The Son of Grindelwald
by OfMiceAndLice
Summary: Today had to be the worst day of Dumbledores life. The Potters are dead, Harry is with the Dursleys and his sister Iris had to be brought to an orphanage. But to top that off: Gellert Grindelwald escaped his imprisonment. What will happen to the boy-who-lived? Who will reach him first? Forces of darkness are lingering in the shadows. Harry is the son of Grindelwald.
1. History repeats itself

_**A/N: **_Hello everyone,

I recently rewatched the second Fantastic Beasts movie and wanted to write something with Grindelwald in it. I believe him to be a good opposing force, but a bit more open to change then Voldemort.

I hope you like this chapter, I wrote it so it can be both a singular chapter story with a somewhat open-end or the first chapter to a larger story.

I am not sure how much I will write for this story and how much it is going to influence my other one, but for now, it is a little experiment.

* * *

_**Cha**__**p**__**ter One**_

_History repeats itself_

Dumbledore was a very old man. Not only by age, which usually hadn't had a great influence on the older wizard, but also by experience and now by the recent events.

The last week had been rather eventful, to say the least.

Good things had happened, even great things, things people would describe in legends a hundred years from now.

Voldemort was dead, the war was over and the world turned into a brighter place.

The older of the two Potter offsprings was by now dubbed the boy-who-lived by any news publication source in the entirety of Europe.

He survived the killing curse and had somehow slain the Dark Lord. These were really strange times.

As he looked out of the window in his office, down onto the black lake and the ancient forest that surrounded the school and its people, protected it from prying eyes of Muggles and other non magical beings as well as helped keep the students save with the inhabitants of the woods, who all seemingly formed a relationship with the castles gamekeeper, not allowing anything to pass through the deep woods.

The forbidden forest hosted a great verity of magical creatures, namely centaurs and gigantic spiders, which were some of the tamer individual threats that lingered in the darkness of the ancient woods.

The forest allowed the school to be and while the ancient magic that rested in the roots of the forbidden forest saved the school many a time in its long history, the trees lingered and waited for something, he'd rather not find out what.

Today, the forest had held its breath. Today, the birds in the sky remained silent. Today, yes today, was the day Dumbledore had feared without ever expecting it to happen.

Today was the reason the headmaster felt so old, so ancient and senile. There was no sparkle in those blue eyes. His half-moon spectacles rested on his crooked nose, his hand stocked his white beard.

Today was the day on which news had reached him that none other then Gellert Grindelwald escaped the German and Austrian wizarding authorities and fled from the former headquarters of the _Alliance_ and now magical prison of Nurmengard Castle. Not only that, but he supposedly was already gone for a few days, before the guard even realised that.

The frown on the headmasters face deepened as he remembered the headlines and articles of the wizarding newspapers all across Europe.

* * *

_**History repeats itself**_

* * *

A few hundred miles south to the castle, in Surrey near London, a group of three people made their way through the ever-repeating city spaces that represented the blandness Privet drive and the surrounding suburbs.

All three people, a younger French woman, a man with wild dark hair and many scars and an old man with brilliant white-blond hair and a large cane that supported his uneasy walk, were wearing heavy leather coats that shielded them from the strong pouring rain.

The group stopped in front of an, especially inconspicuous house. The Grass was perfectly cut and the flowers were all in top condition.

The fourth house of the street didn't seem any more unique than the others and yet the three people were drawn to it like flies.

For the second time in the same week, a powerful wizard stepped through heavily warded and secured defences and for the second time in the same week, the wards simply collapsed.

A smirk appeared on the features of the old man, the same old man who caused the blood wards of the mighty Albus Dumbledore to collapse. The same wards that were supposed to keep people like him out and away from his precious golden boy.

The bright flash of the wards disintegrating, a phenomenon only visible to those who are in some shape or form magically blooded, gave the two others the go-ahead for them to approach the home of the family resting within the formerly secure house. For any lesser man, these wards would have been fatal.

Grindelwald himself knew of course that the wards hadn't fully developed yet, which had been the only reason for them being able to walk onto this property in the first place. The old wizard could feel his magic expanding rapidly, as he took in all of the remaining and escaping power of the collapsed wards.

His core had shimmered with tainted magic as he had escaped his former fortress. Now, after bathing in the magic of his old friend and rival, his core shone bright with the light of pure and untainted magic, a feeling of power and unhindered might spread in his chest, a welcoming warmth overtook the body of the infamous wizard his eyes shone bright with power.

He could feel his body shifting.

The magic helped him regenerate his wounds and injuries. He felt younger then he had felt in a long time. His hand reached out and caressed his now smoothed skin, his soft hair which had gained its old volume. His spine allowed him now to stand tall, his chest out, straight like a soldier. He felt like any powerful wizard felt at the tender age of ninety-eight.

The cane that he had used to walk before was now useless, as he was able to perfectly move, smoothly and elegantly, as if he hadn't spent the last few decades in prison.

He drew a deep breath and watched the soundings in a completely new light. The world had colour again, the wind was now a pleasant companion and the rain washed him clean of his sins of the past. He felt free of all despair.

A shiver ran down his spine as he took in the disgusting normality of the people that lived here. The Muggles and Muggelborns would soon be in their rightful place at the bottom of his world, he was going to make sure of that.

But for that, he was going to need a few things. First of all, he was going to capture the 'boy-who-lived' or 'chosen one' as the newspapers had dubbed the four-year-old Harry James Potter.

Such a disgustingly common name.

Harry. Harry Potter. Harry James Potter

The Potters, unpleasant memories came at the thought of the family of the warriors. Charlus Potter, uncle of James, who in turn fathered Harry. He had fought in the war against him, he had chosen the fool Dumbledore over the way of the truth.

None the less, he was going to make sure that the heir of the Potters, some of his greatest enemies, was taken care of. After all, it wouldn't do any good to have another Charlus or Fleamont Potter striding around the place.

Today he would either kill or take the heir of Potter to raise him into a weapon that would be sure to eradicate any doubt of him being the superior wizard over Albus Dumbledore or that young and foolish Tom Riddle.

'Tomorrow', Grindelwald thought, 'tomorrow I will search the daughter of the Potters and she will share the fate of her brother.'

The Potters had a younger daughter, a one-year-old girl by the name of Iris Lily Potter.

It had been in the Daily Prophet a good year ago. The Potters had produced another offspring. He hadn't read the article, he wasn't interested in such things and the name had been the only detail that pulled his attention and he had kept in the back of his mind.

While she wouldn't essentially be able to choose who she sided with, the thought of being with her brother surely would be enough to come with him. She would be taken regardless, as she probably hadn't yet acquired the ability to speak, or even think for herself. Should the brother chose to stand against him, or refuse to come with him, he would simply kill him and then his little sister.

He had no time to sweet mouth a child now. Should the kid join him, he would make him into a worthy apprentice, a scholar, a politician and a worrier. His sister would be just as talented and similarly schooled, may be weaker in duels but more charismatic? Or she would be a stronger dueller then her brother, while he excelled in politics or other subjects.

Together they, the siblings and he as well as the rest of Grindelwald's men and women, would ravage the continent and rule like they were supposed to. It was, after all, their birthright.

Grindelwald had by now completely tuned out the rain, entirely unfazed, he now strode towards the entrance of the Muggle home. His companions had scouted the surroundings of the house while he had changed and were now standing directly behind him.

The two were his most faithful new followers. On one hand, there was Igor Karkaroff, headmaster of Durmstrang, master duellist and one of the most ruthless people in the entirety of wizarding Europe. To top that, Igor also had been one of the former Dark Lords followers and even a somewhat high ranked one.

Voldemort had tried to set foot in northern Europe through Durmstrang, which hadn't been entirely successful. As soon as Grindelwald had escaped Nurmengard and it had become public knowledge, Karkaroff had searched him and shortly afterwards pledged his allegiance to the German wizard.

In his short time being a free man again, Grindelwald believed him to be his most useful follower, as he was able to provide him with a large number of insights and information about many a thing.

But without the shadow of a doubt, the person to the right of him was going to be his most useful ally in a short time.

Madame Apolline Delacour, a French part veela and witch, as well as wife to one of the most influential French wizards of the last few decades.

She had mothered a young daughter, who would turn out to be rather useful to his cause should the time arise. A young veela would be a phenomenal weapon against anyone, for many a reason.

Besides their natural beauty and magical affinity, the ability to transform into an avian demon-like beast was a rather useful skill. That and the fact she was the daughter to the French minister of magic could help to build a bond with allies or she would help to keep one of his more important followers loyal to him, by offering her as a gift through a forced marriage contract. The possibilities were near endless. But that wouldn't be a concern for now.

He knocked heavily on the strong wooden door. Of course, he could just open the door with magic, while he had no wand he was able to perform multiple spells wandlessly, but he wanted to see if he was able to talk to them first.

It would be, after all, a nice little training for his abilities in persuading them into giving up the Potter heir in their own free will or a way to get easily to information about the young boy.

A rumbling could be heard behind the door. It was late evening, around eight or nine pm, it was heavily raining and not a singular sole would be going outside out of their own free will.

So, understandably, the '_Dursleys_', as it read on the lettering of the mailbox, would be suspicious of whom would knock on their very door at this hour in the evening.

A horse-faced woman carefully opened the door, if only a bit, and peered out onto the three people standing on her porch. She had been assured that no witches or wizards would be able to enter her property or harass her, after all, that was what the letter said Petunia Dursley had received together with a young Harry Potter.

"Who are you?!" she asked, with the most annoying tone of voice the old wizard had ever heard. "What do you want here?", she shot the other two people a calculating look before focusing on the one in the middle again.

It looked like she was measuring them up, trying to judge whether or not they would be a threat to her or her family.

"My name is unimportant while my appearance here is not." Grindelwald spoke loudly. A booming voice that demanded respect and obedience.

The muggle woman was now solely focused on him, waiting for him to continue his explanation. "You could say it would be rather important for you and your family Mrs Dursley, -" the wizard continued "We would want to speak to all of them please, I understand you are living here with your husband and a child that has been entrusted to you by your close relatives!" If it was supposed to sound like a question it didn't. It sounded like an explanation of the simplest of subjects.

The muggle woman only nodded, still somewhat intimidated by the appearance of the three strangers. She seemingly was about to refuse to let them enter when the woman behind the blond man spoke up.

"Madame Dursley? We are 'ere because of a misunderstanding zat 'ad been influencing ze progress of ze transfer of ze, how do you say, _richesse de la famille?…_ ah, oui family wealth. Ze Potters' 'ad quite a few investments zat 'ad turned into a little fortune. You, as closest remaining family, would be les destinataires, ze recipients of ze Potter money." With that, she gave the horse-faced woman a bright, yet noticeably forced smile, which the woman in question didn't seem to notice, and waited for the Muggle to answer.

The mention of money had piqued the woman's interest, a greedy glow spread across the eyes of the woman, something that disgusted the three wizards greatly.

None of them had any love left for those Muggles that showed their simpler sides, their love of useless violence and animal-like behaviour. To act as primal beings on simpler urges. Their self-destructive nature. Their warmongering and unprecedented attacks against their own. Their lack of vision for the greater good.

This was Grindelwald's true enemy. Back during the thirties and forties he had 'supported' the rally of Adolf Hitler and his little German empire. He had sent in some of his best men to assist the Germans in their war against Great Britain and France. But in the end, it was to no avail. He lost the war and so did the Germans.

And while he had admired the practices and truly inhumane ways of torturing and killing the people the German government had deemed to be the enemy, his time in Nurmengard had shown him that they had all been inefficient and wrong. Had they won on either end of the battlefield, had either of the sides lost this truly long-lasting chess match of magical and muggle warfare combined, a war of ideology and principles, then the world would be truly different by now.

"Who is there Petunia darling?" the three wizards could hear from behind the door. Then in a nearly undetectable whisper, still clearly audible to the three standing out in front of the door "It's not one of those freaks, is it?".

The woman, Petunia Dursley, as Grindelwald now knew, turned back into the house and answered with a loud tone, "It's seemingly some financial advisor's, Vernon honey, that came to talk to us about the money we get from the Potter inheritance." completely disregarding the whispered question of her Husband.

"Potter money? -" the voice from behind the door spoke up again "What kind of money would they have? Weren't they, you know…?" he didn't audibly finish the question, which led the wizards to believe that he had been making some form of hand gestures. Not that they cared what these Muggles thought of the Potters.

"Neither did I know of any money they supposedly possessed, but I guess that's why these people are here." Petunia mused while pointing with her thumb over her shoulder.

"I suppose we could hear them out. But let me put the freak back into the cupboard before you let them in." the man behind the door said, the second part only barely audible from outside of the door.

"We hav vaited long enough, let us be done vith it!" Karkaroff whispered next to him, loud enough for only the old man to hear. "No, not yet Igor, soon. I have a strong feeling that if we cast a spell here, Dumbledore would be here in no time." Grindelwald quietly explained. "We will have to get the boy before we kill them. Or we will have to burn down their house with Fiendfyre if he decides against joining our noble cause."

"I still do not understand vhy he is so important to you, my Lord!" Karkaroff whispered again.

"It is neither your place nor in your interest to question me, _Igor_. What I do has reasons far beyond your simple-minded understanding. You should be happy that you will be apart of our new world. I will take care of the road to our dreams and you will assist me with it." Grindelwald answered menacingly, still not loud enough to disturb the talking Muggles, but enough to catch the attention of the French witch, who now looked disapprovingly over towards the Bulgarian headmaster.

"Your bickering will disturb ze mission, Karkaroff." she hissed at him, before turning back to the door, where the Muggles had finished their discussion and were now ready to let them in.

"Do you want anything? Tea? A glass of water or wine?" the pale woman asked. Grindelwald eyed her with a calculating gaze, hiding it behind an artificial friendly smile.

She was rather tall and thin. She had blond hair and a very long face, which was probably her most noticeable feature. Her horse-like-teeth and a rather long neck made her out to look like some form of half-breed. She had pale eyes, some that reflected a certain coldness, but they were filled with joy at the moment.

Probably because she thought she was going to be getting an undisclosed amount of money in the foreseeable future.

Her appearance disgusted the old wizard as did her thoughts. She was about as bland and as mutch muggle as one could be. But her husband was a completely different case. If the woman was insufferable, the man was that but tenfold.

Vernon Dursley was a big, beefy man with a large purple face. He had thick, dark hair, a bushy black moustache, with hardly any neck and mean little eyes.

The only thing these two had in common was their complete blandness and unbelievably muggelish behaviour.

"No thank you, we will want to make this short and sweet," Grindelwald muttered. "Where is the boy? He will need to be present for this!" his cold blue eyes focused on the large muggle who was standing by the stairs. "Oh, you mean Dudley? He is in the living room, he watches something on the TV." Vernon answered, he clearly tried to avoid the piercing blue eyes of the blond man.

"I vink you know who ve are talking about!" Karkaroff said, his voice threateningly low and with a deep growl. The Muggles were quickly intimidated by the scarred man but the large Muggle still seemingly had some fight in him, as he answered, his voice only barely shaking.

"The boy just went to bed. I think we are better choices to talk to, we are his guardians after all." he quivered, spitting the words _boy_ and _guardian_ out like they were poisons.

"Well, If he just went to bed, I am sure he will be still awake. If not wake him, this is important. More so then you may think." Grindelwald snapped. His voice again, demanding obedience and respect.

"Fine, fine... Vernon get the boy, I will take our guests to the living room." Petunia said a strong hint of fear and resentment was present in her voice. There was something about the three strangers that greatly unsettled her.

It was unusual for people to come into their house and demand things. Would it have been anyone else, Vernon would have probably folded them by now and thrown them onto the side-walk, she was sure of it.

But these people were unique. There was a no noses aura that sounded them.

_A determined will was strongly uniting them for they had a common goal._

She once had read that in a book somewhere.

They had taken a seat in the lounge, a boy was sitting there, alone, he was not much more than one year old. He had blond hair, something he undoubtedly got from the horse-faced woman, the old wizard observed.

"Mum!" the child yelped, as he spotted the strange people entering the room. The Dursley woman rushed over to her child and quickly snatched him up into a hug, whispering soothing words into his ears.

The display of motherly affection left all three entirely untouched. And while Madame Delacour had a child herself, she doubted that anyone could feel as much of an attachment to their son or daughter as she did with hers. The fact that the boy was a Muggle didn't help his case at all.

Just then there was some commotion by the stairs and the two occupants entered the room.

This was the first time that anyone of them had laid eyes upon the 'boy-who-lived'. Grindelwald felt slightly underwhelmed, as he mustered the boy from head to toe.

He had raven black hair that undoubtedly came from his father. Grindelwald remembered facing down Fleamont and Charlus Potter, who both had similarly shocking hairstyles.

He had bright green eyes, a rather unique colour, something that reminded him of an emerald. But most of all, he was scrawny and had a couple of fresh wounds on his hands.

This was a most interesting development, as either A, James and Lily Potter had been abusive towards him before they died and gave him those still relatively new injuries, rather unlikely, or B, he was being abused and either under or not at all fed by his aunt and uncle here.

Based on his relatively new injuries, somewhere burns or cuts, there was also an imprint of the large Muggles hand on his face and throat, Gellert suspected that his second thesis was true.

He felt a strong similarity between _Harry James Potter_ and _Credence Barebone_ or _Aurelius Dumbledore_.

Forced to abandon the life with a good family, Aurelius had to be adopted by a new family, the Barebones, a wizard hating family that lived in America a few decades back. There he had been called Credence Barebone, forced to live as a Muggle, a no-maj, forced to live without magic, without love. There had never been a certainty in his life.

Grindelwald had used that to his advantage. Just like he was going to be using this as an advantage with Harry Potter.

He would make sure the boy trusted him, he would help him achieve what he wanted and in turn, the boy was going to help him.

He would give him a family if that was what he needed. A shudder came with the thought, the years and decades in Nurmengard had made him soft. He was sure the Delacour's would take him in and treat him as one of their own if need be.

Plans grew in the older wizards head. A four-year-old boy wouldn't be as impressionable as a one-year-old would have been, but he had managed to turn a twenty-five-year-old Credence into his arms, so he was feeling rather confident.

"Well, now that everyone is here, I would like to take young Mr Potter aside and talk to him for a bit. Madam Delacour will begin to give you a simple introduction to the subject matter and we will begin as soon as I have returned." Grindelwald intoned the last bit while looking straight at Karkaroff.

The Bulgarian slightly nodded but generally looked entirely impassive while standing in the corner of the room, back to the wall as if ready for an attack every second. The old wizard turned to the boy and gave him an artificial smile while taking a step forward towards him.

The large Muggle now also took a step forward and gave the German wizard a menacing glare. "You will not talk to my nephew alone, sir, I hope you understand." the large Dursley cracked his fingers and took another step forward.

"Are you threatening him?" the dark voice of Karkaroff boomed across the room. Gellert only held his hand up in a soothing manner. "Now, now… Nobody was threatening anyone here. I'm sure you agree, Mr Dursley." his voice grew colder and colder while turning towards the large muggle.

"The hell I wasn't!" Vernon screamed, utter fury raided from his voice. Who was this man that dared come into his house and tell him what to do? Money or not, he would not stand being disrespected in his own home. He took another step towards the old man, who in fairness, not even flinched. As a matter of fact, he remained as relaxed as if he had been talking about the weather with him.

"Is that so, Mr Dursley?" the old man said. "Well then, Oh, silly me, we haven't even mentioned our names to you, haven't we? I guess introductions are in order!" he said, not in the slightest moved by the fact that a mountain of a man was standing a few inches away from him.

Vernon seemed to be slightly taken aback by that. Both he and Petunia reluctantly shook their heads and waited to receive the names of the intruders.

"This over there, -" he said pointing towards the tall and thin man with a goatee which ended in a twirl and some cold and unmoving eyes "- Is Igor Karkaroff. He is famous for being the headmaster of a renowned school in northern Europe. He recently found me after I fled from imprisonment in Austria, where I had spent a good part of the past century. He himself managed to… miss out on a shorter sentence for torturing people together with another man who currently resides at my residence." Grindelwald patiently explained, as if he was talking about the simplest thing in the world.

"This beautiful woman is Madam Apolline Delacour, a few years ago she gave birth to the most wonderful young woman I have ever met in my life." he gave a slight nod to the half-veela "A very polite girl, and rather smart too. She is only four-years-old, much like young Harry over here -" He continued while pointing in the general direction of the young boy "- and daughter to one of the most influential people in France. Not to mention of course the fact that he is the French minister of magic." He finished the introduction of Madame Delacour and turned to the older Dursley.

"And I am Gellert." he paused for a second "Gellert Grindelwald. Reason for the first large wizarding war, hell I even supported Germany in their war efforts. For that, being indirectly and directly accountable for the deaths of many hundreds of thousands if not millions of people, I was imprisoned back in 1945." He finished with a wicked smile. "In a few months I will turn one-hundred-years old and If everything goes according to plan, I will live for another hundred years." Grindelwald added, this time he laughed out loud.

There were shell-shocked expressions on the faces of the three other people in the room, save for Dudley of course, who by now was sleeping in the arms of his mother.

"So I ask you again, Dursley, did you just threaten us?" this time, the tone of the wizard was less playful and had returned to the cold one that it had possessed before.

The pale form of the large man standing before him didn't answer. "So I suppose this is a yes?" Grindelwald asked while turning to Karkaroff. "Why don't you show Mr and Mrs Dursley what you did to those Muggles together with Antonin, hm?"

The tall man only nodded, a simple smile appearing on his face as he drew his wand.

But then, for the first time since they had arrived Harry Potter spoke up. He sounded slightly shaky, but none the less determined. "No, please don't hurt them."

This surprised the old wizard greatly. He quickly raised his hand and gave Igor the sign to wait.

"Why would you wish this? Haven't they abused you? Hit you? Made you do things you didn't want to do? Treated you like you weren't human?" he asked. These were largely rhetorical questions, but the inquisitive tone remained.

"They are bad people Harry. Muggles that injure the heir of an ancient and noble house are sentenced with no trail and executed." He intoned the last part.

He gave the boy an intense glare, before softening a little and going down onto a knee so he was on the same level as Harry.

"Harry, these people hate you. They will enjoy seeing you harmed. They will hate you for the rest of your life. Their son will grow up to be a bad if not criminal person and so will his sons and daughters."

Grindelwald sighed slightly. "They are lesser people Harry. They can't love what they don't understand. They can't show kindness and only favour their own." he paused and let his words sink in. Harry only stared back at him, as if trying to understand what the man had just said.

"Remember your parents Harry. Remember your sister. Have they ever laid hands on you only to harm you? To… maim you?" Grindelwald continued, taking the hands of the young man into his own, brushing over the burns, cuts and bruises with his finger, leaving them to disappear and heal quickly.

He looked up and met the gaze of the young man. In times like these he missed Queenie Goldstein, she could have told him what the boy was thinking, what he would need to say or do to give the boy the final push.

Harry only shook his head. A singular tear welled up from his eyes and ran down his cheek. He quietly sniffed, waiting for the man to continue.

"Harry, these people only want you harm. You are protecting what will betray you someday. Do you think that they will let you leave that cupboard of yours after we are gone?" He again intoned the last part of his statement.

"If you were to come with me -" Grindelwald continued, but he was interrupted by the boy. "But you are bad." he said, sounding entirely to unsure for such an absolute statement.

"No Harry," Grindelwald muttered in a soothing voice, trying to calm down the boy. The last thing he needed was some accidental magic happening and him ending up like Riddle.

"I'm no bad person. I did bad things, yes. But I did these things for the greater good." Grindelwald paused again. He now had to do exactly what he said he didn't want to do. He had to seduce the boy to his ideals and this fast.

Every minute they spent here, Dumbledore could decide to drop by and check if Harry was alright. Grindelwald was sure that at this point in time, no one in this room stood even remotely a chance at fighting Dumbledore.

The Delacour matriarch was the least skilled duellist of the three but supposedly had a hand for enchantments and potions. Neither really helpful in a duel. The only thing she would have had going for her was her veela heritage. The transformation into the avian fire demon was the only help she could provide.

Karkaroff was a skilled duller, he personally had instructed Antonin Dolohov and many other skilled Durmstrang students. While he stood a far better chance against Dumbledore then Apolline, he wouldn't stand a chance against the skill of the chief warlock.

Grindelwald knew that he himself wouldn't be able to hold Dumbledore off either. This was largely due to the fact that he had spent the past few decades in prison as so was rather rusty in battle magic or any kind of magic for that matter. But he also had no wand and while he was able to cast one or two spells wandlessly, they were neither combat spells nor effective against one of the most accomplished wizards of all time.

He stopped his musings and turned back to the boy, who was still staring at him. "These things had to be done. For the greater good," he repeated. "I gave up the chance to be seen as a good man by those who were blinded by the lies of the governments. I fought the superstitions of the people that the statute of secrecy was only there for our sake. "They didn't listen. They sooner heeded the words of someone who used to follow me, stood by my side, wanted the same as I did. We swore an oath to never betray each other. We made a blood pact to never move against the other. And yet, he betrayed me. He moved against me. Fought me for my beliefs. Believes we used to share. Believes of a world where wizards could live and love the way they wanted to. Be who they dreamed to be. Wizards and Muggles. Hand in hand, living and ruling the world to our liking. Paradise on earth Harry!" He focused on the boy again. His gaze had slightly shifted as he had ranted on and remembered his dreams for the world.

"Paradise where people like them -" he pointed at the Dursleys "- never would be allowed to continue their ways. Paradise where you can do and be what you want to. Imagine that!" Grindelwald continued.

"Join me Harry." he suddenly intoned after a few seconds. "Join our noble cause, be remembered in history for your already great achievements and for those that will follow them."

He could see the inner conflict the boy was having, so he continued, trying to push and pull the right buttons.  
"You could have anything you ever wanted Harry. I would give you everything! I would fulfil your deepest desire! I would give you power if you wanted it, money if you needed it, friends, if you required them and even a family of your own if that would be your deepest wish." Grindelwald paused again.

The conflict seemed to be seething behind his eyes. Green flames, the colour of all the meadows, trees and emeralds around the wide world, played and danced behind the eyes of the young wizard.

"I could raise you, Harry, train you to be the very best you could be! Prepare you for your upcoming trials and challenges of being the _boy-who-lived_." he made a nearly dramatic pause before finishing off, with what he believed would seal the boys' determination.

"You would make your Parents proud Harry James Potter! Them and me, if you wish to do so. I can show you how."

Harry swallowed audibly at that.

The young boy let his gaze sweep across the room. There were very different emotions on each of the occupant's faces. The first one was the one of Igor Karkaroff. He still seemed to be waiting on the order to torture the Dursleys to insanity.

But at the same time, he had paid great attention to what the old man had told Harry. At certain points in the rant of the blond man, Karkaroff had nodded or shaken his head more or less enthusiastically than other times.

The second gaze he caught, was the gaze of the woman that had accompanied the three of two other men. Apolline Delacour.

The mother of a daughter that was supposed to be around his age and the wife of a politician or something else equally influential in France. He didn't really care for the second part, but there was a strange pull to her at the thought of her being a mother.

The gaze she gave him, provided him with a sense of security and welcoming. Every time he had looked at her, he suddenly had the strange need to prove himself to her. To make sure she was paying attention to him and to hope that she would approve of him or even be proud.

These were all emotions he solely remembered from looking at one other person in his life. His own mother. The thought of the Delacours being there for him, especially after only recently having lost his own family, was very comforting.

He wouldn't be alone anymore.

Then there were the three Dursleys. Well, two Dursleys that really mattered in this case, as the youngest of the three, their one-year-old son Dudley, was currently fast asleep and entirely oblivious to the ongoings in the very same room.

Vernon and Petunia shared a similar look of extreme panic and despair. They both were pale and in Petunias case even shaking. There was nothing else they could possibly do. If they called the police and told them there was a convicted mass murderer, someone who was charged with torture but evaded prison and the wife of the French minister of magic in their home, they would be laughed at, send to a mental asylum or both.

There was something strangely satisfying at seeing them this helpless. They were so afraid of them, of him. It was like all the pain and suffering they had caused him since he was here just had been repaid tenfold.

It was then when he first realized that what the old man, Grindelwald, had told him, was entirely the truth.

Since he had arrived, brought here by none other than Albus Dumbledore himself, they had only cared about themselves. They had used him. They had abused him. He would never have been more than the punching back of little _Duders_.

Of course, they had taken him in, instead of forcing him to leave right after Dumbledore had left. This had to be worth something, right?

In reality, this didn't matter, as he probably would have rather starved out in the street than being mistreated by the Dursleys as he had been.

'But they only had a week, maybe they would have changed. Maybe you should give them another chance.' This little voice was talking in his head. His good side. His conscience was trying to save him from something he could regret.

'But would you really regret it? They wouldn't morn your death, cry for you or think back on the good and bad times. There were no good times. Only bad times. Grindelwald is offering you a chance, Harry! Take it! Then you will go to your sister and bring her with you to your new family.'

In a classic comic, this inner conflict would probably have been a portrait by an angel and a devil sitting on his shoulders, whispering things in his ear.

The last gaze that Harry met was the intense stare of the 'bad man'. The one he was supposed to fear. The one who was supposed to be his enemy. The one who showed him compassion and was a guiding light in the darkness of the Muggle world.

He had only spoken truths thus far. Why not go with him and see if he was truly offering what he promised.

If that was the case, If he truly was a part of his plans to rise to power and to save the wizarding world like it was supposed to. Then he knew what side he would pick. Yet he wasn't entirely sure what choice he had.

"What would you do if I said no." Harry asked. There was a cold wave running through the eyes of the man standing before him.

Then Grindelwald started laughing. It wasn't the laugh that would be heard after a joke had been told. It was a laugh that made shivers run down his spine. The room temperature sank drastically.

"Oh, Harry. What do you think we will do If you refuse?" Grindelwald turned the question. This made Harry a lot more uncomfortable then it should have made him. It almost felt like Grindelwald had just claimed Harry had betrayed his trust.

He only shook his head before answering in a clear cut tone, eyes shining defiantly. He was going to make his parents proud of him. He would be going take his sister from the orphanage where she was at or where ever else Dumbledore could have brought her.

His eyes shone defiantly green, his gaze rushed around the room one last time before he whispered to the old man his choice.

Grindelwald leaned back and measured up the young boy standing before him.

"Are you sure this is your choice, Mr Potter?" Gellert spoke loudly. "I don't often give people a second chance to choose."

With a surprisingly firm voice for a four-year-old who had just made a life-changing decision, he answered loud and clear "Yes, I am sure!".

There was a great certainty shimmering in his eyes as he spoke. He awaited what would happen next.

"Igor, Kill them!" Grindelwald spoke. "Kill them all, quickly!" The booming voice of the wizard commanded.

"Vinally, ve have vasted much time in this house already." Igor spoke loudly "It is a vonder Dumbledore hasn't arrived yet. But he vill be here soon."

"Yes, but it will be too late Igor," Grindelwald muttered. "He will have lost his golden boy by then."

Onlookers would have seen a few green strokes of light in this part of the Londoner suburbs. No one had any clue of the ramifications of these evenings events for the long term future of the wizarding world.

* * *

A few hundred miles north, back in the round office of the headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry a loud ear-shattering scream could be heard, which radiated from one of the little complex machines that were sitting on the shelves. Then there were more sounds joining in. Soon all of them were going off, screaming and drumming like wild animals being hunted down.

The commotion in the main room of his office had caught the headmasters attention. As he realized what was going on, all the colour had been drained from the headmasters face.

'This was not supposed to happen' was the last thing he remembered thinking before everything went to shit.

Hope was gone for the headmaster. He hadn't felt this miserable in many decades. He now stood alone against everything.

Soon he would have to move against Grindelwald again.

He felt like he had felt the last time he realised this.

Because, after all:

_**History repeats itself**_

* * *

_**A/N: **Hope you enjoyed reading this far. Please let me know what you think, based on how you feel about this chapter I will maybe write a follow-up._

_Since I have written this one, I doubt there will be a next chapter for **Bound Through History** coming this week. (One of my other stories, the only one so far I am actually really proud of. Most people don't read further then the first chapter, as that one is not that great, but If you read this note here, please give it a try.)_

_**A/N II:** I've edited some parts of the chapter on the suggestion of one of the reviewers. Thank you **Blackson88** for pointing that out to me. I had forgotten about some of his points in the speech and for some reason just turned him into another Voldemort, but German._

_In the second chapter I am currently working on this error won't be brought up again, I've already changed all of that._

_Please do point out more errors like this to me, my dear readers, as slip-ups like this are bound to happen._

_Thank you again and I hope you will enjoy the upcoming chapter._


	2. The Orphanage

_**A/N:** Thank you, everyone, for deciding to read the second chapter of my little story.  
I was extremely overwhelmed when I saw to overall great reception this story received and couldn't help but write a second chapter._

_I've made it similar to the first chapter. I left the chapter open-ended, so it gives me the ability to stop writing this after this chapter, yet I left things open to writing another chapter. Please Follow and Favorite as well as Review the story to show me that you are interested in another chapter._

_I greatly appreciate criticism or any other form of feedback. Please think about giving some, it will help me improve the story and possibly create a better reading experience for everyone._

_Again, Thanks to everyone who decided to click on the second chapter of this story and had the patience to read through my ramblings. I hope you enjoy this new chapter as much as I did writing it._

_Enjoy._

* * *

_**Cha**__**p**__**ter Two**_

_The Orphanage_

It had taken some time to find the small village on the welsh west coast. The storm, that had rolled over the British Isles the last three days, had done well for the green hills.

It was a breathtaking sight, the beautiful coastline that cut at some parts deeply into the ocean only to give way for a large cove the next hundred yards out. The rain had softened the grass, which made it feel like walking on water once your feet touched it.

There was a strong eastbound wind blowing. The small rows of trees slowly moved in the wind and gave up a soothing sound of rustling leaves and bird songs. The fresh air that was brought land inwards from the sea was refreshing.

Harry took a deep breath to clean his lungs from the polluted air that had been circulating in the city.

He walked to the edge of the cliffs, as far as he could without losing his balance or slipping, and looked down onto the rocky beach at its feet. There was a good three-hundred feet drop bellow him and the cliff was very steep.

The beach was only a few dozen feet broad and was nearly completely moist from the waves that washed over the rocks who recently had been covered by the high tide. The rocks were smooth, sleeked and shaped by smaller rocks and the smooth water.

Harry looked out onto the sea again. He wondered if, on a good day, he possibly would have been able to see the Irish coast from here. He smiled, closing his eyes and spreading his arms, feeling the wind blow against him.

He enjoyed the feeling of blowing wind in his hair, the loud rushing and howling in his ears, the cold breeze that blew in from the sea and the smell of salt and water. He'd never been so close to the sea before. His parents had always been on the run from the death eaters, ever since he could remember.

Neither did he have any friends growing up. They had only recently moved in when he had been born. It had been a small cottage in northern Scotland.

They had only lived there for about nine months before they had to move again. He, back then, had been too young the remember or even realize what had been going on. They had found a small wizarding village in south-west England, not too far away from the cliffs of Dover.

There, in Godrics Hollow, they had spent their last three years.

Of course, that had only lasted until they had been betrayed by their secret keeper. Lily had once explained to him in simple terms what the Fidelius Charm was and how it worked. Harry, being only three years old back then, had only partially understood how it worked. It basically was a secret that had to be kept. This secret would be hidden through magic and could hide buildings, names and other things if applied right. The one who was in charge of the secret, usually someone you would trust, then would have the ability to convey this secret to anyone else through text from. No one who was directly or indirectly influenced by the charm would be able to talk about it or reveal it unwillingly.

James and Lily had chosen their closest friend, Sirius, to be the secret keeper. Then, after three years of living at Godrics Hollow without incident, they decided to change their secret keeper and recast the Fidelius Charm, as pressure grew on the others.

This time, they had chosen another, a different one of their closest friends, Peter Pettigrew, because they thought of him to be least likely to be suspected of being selected for being responsible for hiding such precious information.

It had turned out to be the wrong decision, as only days after recasting the charm He-who-must-not-be-named, Lord Voldemort, had stepped onto their property and killed his parents and nearly him and his little sister.

No one had known what had happened that night in their home. The magic that had been at work had been so unique no one knew how Voldemort truly fell.

Dumbledore only had suspicions and his new mentor and _father_ Gellert Grindelwald could only guess as well.

It had taken two days for him to officially, or at least by magic and blood, be the son of the German wizard. They had undertaken a blood ritual, which would change the blood and genetics in his body, which in turn would basically change all his father's genetics into those of Grindelwald.

He first hadn't understood why he would have to undertake such a ritual, but the old man had quickly explained to him that he now legally was dead.

Karkaroff, who had killed the Dursleys before Harry's very own eyes a few days ago, had created a replica of his own body. The Delacour matriarch had enchanted the body to replicate all of the needed identification methods and their results as if they had been taken from him, should one try to use magic or muggle methods on the corpse.

He touched his face again. It was a strange feeling. While most of the change was yet to come over the years until he reached maturity, he could feel a strong shift in his appearance already.

He now had far smoother skin, something that he seemingly got from his mother this time, as well as white-blond hair and higher more defined cheekbones. He also had a slimmer head in general, but his yaw line showed to be a little more chiselled. But the strangest change was still his eyes. While one remained the unique emerald green of his mother, the other changed into the cold and icy blue of those of Gellert.

While this would have been unique in and of itself, there was something strange going on with both of them. Depending on his current mood or emotional state, or as Grindelwald called it his inner magical flow, both eyes changed into either of the colours.

For example, when he felt angry or happy his eyes shone in a bright green. When he was sad or thoughtful his eyes turned blue. There always was a slight hint of their true colour in either eye, but it was only so marginal that one wouldn't notice without knowing it was there.

There were still a large number of things he had from his mother. His features and facial structure largely where those of his mother. While somewhere tinted with those of Grindelwald, he had seen quite clearly that he had his mothers nose and ears. Grindelwald had provided him with a larger chunk of bodily change though. He had grown an inch over the last few days and also now had a slightly broader chest and shoulder area. Furthermore, he felt far more comfortable when standing and sitting straight like a plank, unlike before.

It had felt like a large part of his bone structure had been reshaped completely. The ritual had undone four years of work and redid them in only a few days, hours even. It had taken him half a day to recover and a whole nights sleep before he felt up to shape again.

His father had mentioned to him that this usually would have taken two weeks and only showed how resilient and strong he now was.

Harry still felt rather uncomfortable calling Gellert father, which he once had mentioned to the old man, who seemingly found the whole thing rather amusing more than anything.

'Well, sooner or later you will have to anyways -' he had said '- better start early and get practice in.'.

That hadn't comforted him really, but he still did it. He had already noticed that it rolled easier of the tongue then before, still, it didn't really feel right.

With the word father, he still connected a six-foot-five tall man with wild raven black hair and sharp eyes combined wit a trashy sense humour. It would take years and years for the old man to fit into that role.

Harry had spent the last few days in France, or more pacifically in a manor south of Orléans. The manor belonged to the Delacours, who had been very hospitable towards him and the older wizard.

Of course, they had only spent time there for a very short period, but Harry had already formed the beginnings of a friendship with the young daughter of the family. While neither of them was able to speak a word of the other language, they seemed to get along on a more spiritual level. He was able to say something in English and she would be able to answer or do what he said as she somehow understood him. The same was the other way round.

That was something he had brought up with the adults, who only said that things like that where possible, as was everything was with magic.

He had to confess that he hadn't been really satisfied with the answer. Not that it really changed anything. He couldn't yet read or write more then his own name and one or two other words and short sentences and even if he could, most of the books were in French anyway.

Harry opened his eyes again, an especially sharp breeze caught him off guard and he nearly lost his balance. "Watch out!" Gellert reprimanded him sharply "We don't need you to fall to your death just after all that work I have put into you!"

Harry's heartbeat quickly.

_Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!_

All he could hear was the blood circulating through his ears, his brain, his head.

He blushed from embarrassment at his own idiocy. The loud reprimand by his mentor didn't help much either. He only mumbled an apology and took another large step away from the edge. As a response, he only heard a sigh from his father.

Harry hadn't even heard him coming back. Gellert had told him to wait here for him, as he would quickly take a look at the orphanage they were supposed to be visiting.

There was a great warmth at the thought of seeing his little sister again. She had been his only friend in their time of hiding. She may have only been a few months old and he may have only been three, but she was so joyful.

He clearly remembered her in his inner eye. She had already started growing her first spots of hair. They had been a beautiful auburn red, as her mother had called it, which certainly was a rather unique colour.

Of course, they had come from their mothers' side of the family. Lily had a similar colour herself, as, supposedly so, did her mother and her grandmother.

Iris had hazel eyes and that certainly was a testimony to James' fathering. But as he had been the carbon copy of his father, Iris had almost entirely taken after her mother. Only little pointers, as for example the eyes, had shown James in her. That this was visible after only a few months already showed how beautiful she would grow up to become.

Harry was looking forward to seeing her again.

"Is it safe for me to go there now?" Harry asked, still slightly shaken by a completely unnecessary near-death experience.

"Yes, -" the old wizard said, though no joy or even remote satisfaction at finally having found the elusive orphanage was audible. "- it is safe, but it is pointless to go there."

Harry's face, formerly lit with joy at the thought of seeing his little sister again, fell. "She… She's not there?" Harry asked, sounding defeated "Didn't you say you were sure she was the-" "Yes, I told you that I believed her to be there if that was the truth or not still remains to be proven to be or not to be truthful!" Gellert snapped at the young boy. "Don't be disrespectful towards me boy!" The warning that lingered in those words were only to clear to Harry. He only quietly nodded to show his understanding and apologies.

"I don't know if she was there or not, which is most infuriating based on the fact that I can't prove it." Gellert murmured, this time a lot calmer than before. Yet Harry could clearly hear how furious he was after seeing what he had seen.

"Someone was there before us." Grindelwald sighed after a short pause. "Whoever it was burned it down with Fiendfyre, the building is still burning, but whatever was in there is now most likely dead."

Harry was shell-shocked. He knew by now that something similar would have happened to his house if he hadn't agreed to go with Gellert when he did. But the simple idea of his little sister being trapped in some burning house made his stomach turn.

.oOo.

There was something about the boy that interested Grindelwald greatly. His way of dealing with things, if they went wrong was rather unique for such a young man.

He possessed quite the resourcefulness and was a rather resilient boy. He attributed this to the fact that he was already born on the run.

But the fact how he handled the possible death of his sister was far more unique and mature then the old wizard would have expected from a snotty four-year-old brat.

Gellert himself never made much use of his skill in the more obscure fields of mind magic, mostly only to protect his mind from going insane over the decades in prison or some other useless application for such a broad field of talent.

This had been the first time in a long time that he actually used his Legilimency against someone else. Usually, he created space in his head to think while using the more common and far more applicable subject of Occlumency, but he hadn't made use of either in a long time.

The boy had shown only little outward signs of distress. It surely was more the shock than any superior act of self-control that rendered him stunned like this.

While there might not have been any general signs of distress visible from anyone simply looking at the boy, his mind was in a far more chaotic state. Still, even in his currently rather unflattering state of mind, he possessed great structure in the way he thought.

This was a sign of someone who spends a lot of time thinking and usually was only found in the mindsets of older, more experienced men or women.

There was a somewhat hypnotic structure to the way some of his thoughts played out in his head. They were strangely ordered and in perfect symmetry, flowing next to each other, until they got dispersed or replaced by another stream of thought that went into a totally different direction, lining itself up with another set of thoughts.

Grindelwald grabbed onto one of the thought streams that was currently passing him and let himself go. He started flowing, following the near-automatic rhythm of his thoughts and jumped from thought to thought, evading those that dispersed by losing focus or got replaced by new thoughts and memories. He could only compare this experience with walking on water during a heavy storm.

Then at some point, each and every thought went a little grey for a few seconds. During this time there was some form of soothing melody coming from one of the parts further in his mind.

It was a strange sound, like some sort of distorted lullaby or some de-harmonized nursery. Then there was crying and screaming, a bright green flash of light flooded the mind of the young boy, before turning into an abyss like darkness.

Then the light came back and everything continued as if nothing had happened. The electric buzzing of the thoughts and memories were back and the steady pressure on his mind was noticeable as ever.

Suddenly he could hear a voice, a distant one, this time not from inside the mind he was currently invading but more from the body of the boy.

_'I… nt… o to th… nage'_

Grindelwald didn't understand, it was like his ears were underwater. The voice was there, noticeable even, but yet so distant, so far. Not audible, like screaming over a far distance while the wind blew.

_'I w… o g… e orph...'_

He still couldn't understand. He tried to free himself from the mind of the boy, a task that should be as easy as it was saying it. Yet the simple thought of leaving this place was too complex or too unstructured to make sense to him now.

His own mind had taken on a similar structure to the one that Harry possessed now, yet for a man that had spend half his life in prison didn't think like that.

Every thought he made left a silver trail in the boys head. It was like holding a quill over a spinning piece of paper.

_'Fa… re yo… ight?'_

A long, red piece of yarn appeared before him. It fell like a rope from the ceiling, allowing him to climb up if he wished to do so.

Gellert pulled on the rope, he climbed up, it felt like an endless climb. He almost thought he made the wrong decision, he was about to give up when he suddenly stood on the cliff again.

He felt like he could breathe again. The wind whipped around his face, a surprising cold and harshness were in that blow.

Grindelwald tried to orientate himself again. He was standing a few meters away from the edge of the cliff, he remembered what hat happened again. He remembered the burning orphanage again. He remembered returning from his trip only to see Harry nearly falling off the cliff. He remembered how his face fell when he found out about his sister's mysterious disappearance. Lastly, he remembered falling into a mind trap.

It was a vicious little trap that usually wasn't to be found in any shape or form near any normal human being, let alone a child with no Occlumency training what so ever.

It had been ages since he had magical creatures and dark arts classes in Durmstrang, but if he remembered correctly there were three creatures in the world that were able to create such a mind trap with more or less of the strength of the one he just witnessed.

The first creature that was able to create such a mind trap, while a lot weaker, yet far more effective was none other than the _Antipodean Opaleye_. A dragon, native to New Zealand and highly resistant to any form of mental manipulation. Should one ever be idiotic enough to challenge an Antipodean Opaleye to a battle of the mind, they would find himself soon to be trapped in its very mind. The dragon would simply tear the soul from the body of the opponent and would be done with it.

The second creature was far more vicious than the first and even more dangerous. A Basilisk, similar to the dragon, possesses the ability to create a mind trap so far stronger, painful and even more unbreakable then those of the dragon.

The only difference in being trapped by the Basilisk in comparison to the dragon was the pain. The dragon was quick and done with it. The Basilisk takes its time. Making sure every single second feels like a painful eternity, slowly torturing the victim into insanity.

The last one Grindelwald could recall was the common Boggart. A non-being. A demon-like creature, able to turn its physical form into the greatest fear of the opponent through Legilimency. Due to that, simple Occlumency was rather helpful when fighting a Boggart, as it will have no fears to go off on when being faced with an impenetrable shield.

But should some unfortunate soul ever get the idea of using Legilimency on a Boggart, and through that successfully smashing its mental shields, they would find themselves trapped in a maze larger than anything. Each corner riddled with the greatest fear of the challenger.

The mind of the man or woman who dared to enter such an infested soul would simply seize to exist. There were only two recordings of that happening in known history. In both cases, it was rumoured, yet not confirmed that those who lose themselves in the mind of a Boggart become demons and shapeshifters themselves, as their soul would be forfeit.

Understandably so Grindelwald was rather disturbed when he returned from the strange mind of the boy.

"Father? Are you alright?"

He could hear the voice now clear as they. The same voice that had talked to him in the trap. Harry had asked him something, that had been the reason why he was able to escape. Hadn't he spoken, he would have most likely lost himself in the depth of the mind of the young man.

"I want to go to the orphanage!"

This had been the other thing that he had heard. He only slightly shook his head, regaining his focus before looking sharply at the boy.

Harry faltered under the sharp gaze of his mentor, looking down before meeting the eyes of the man again, this time asking a little downcast.

"Can we please go to the orphanage? I want to see it with my own eyes."

Grindelwald only looked down onto the boy before garbing his arm and apparating him away to the burning orphanage. He would have to look into this at a later time, now they would have to find a way to locate the boy's little sister if she even was still alive. While she wasn't as important, she could provide additional pull for the boy.

.oOo.

They reappeared a few miles to the north-west of their former location. The shoreline was now a decent few miles to their east.

They stood at the edge of a deep forest. Birds could be heard chirping in the trees nearby as well as the distant crackling of a fire. A thick column of smoke rose to the sky, slowly taking on the shape of a deformed skull the higher it rose.

They had just about reached the orphanage, only burning remains were left of the building that had been once standing here, as they could hear a loud snapping sound a few hundred yards out.

Grindelwald, not hesitating a single second, pushed down Harry into the wet forest soil, dropping down next to him shortly after. He had his wand at the ready, one he had acquired by disarming a sleeping Auror that had been resting in an inn near where they had been looking around. It wasn't a great wand by any measure.

It was made out of ash and seemingly had a Dragon heartstring core. Twelve inches long and rather whippy weren't the best properties for a wand the old wizard thought. Yet it allowed him to cast spells with little to no problems and now would be able to hold his own against any opponent again, should he have to.

Yet he wished he wouldn't need to duel. He much rather would like to remain hidden for as long as possible, licking his wounds as themselves Muggles would say.

More, this time louder, popping sounds could be heard. Judging by the array of voices and popping sounds a contingent of Aurors had just arrived. A good dozen men and woman, all armed and on high alert, would soon be roaming this area.

But then he heard something that made his heart stop for a short second, holding his breath and making sure to catch everything that was said.

Albus Dumbledore had arrived. Grindelwald cringed.

While this may not be optimal it also helped him greatly with his search progress, as he now knew a few things that otherwise would have taken time to find out.

Firstly he knew now that neither the Ministry nor Dumbledore had anything to do with the mysterious fire that had destroyed the orphanage.

Secondly, what didn't help him much with his investigation but with other matters, was the fact that he now knew where he could find his wand. The elder wand was currently held by the bony fingers of the chief warlock and headmaster of Hogwarts.

And thirdly he was now completely informed about both the connection and knowledge of the ministry of magic concerning Dumbledore and himself. The ministry workers were still too lax about their minds and even a base level mind arts student would have been able to read them like books within seconds. This was a somewhat comforting and concerning thought at the same time.

While he would need less experienced forces to successfully ensure the revolutions progress and battle strength to fight alongside him, it also meant that Voldemort and his little group of annoyances would have free reign should they figure out how to use their manpower properly.

They would have to get out of here, quickly, if they didn't want to be noticed by any of the Aurors or the Warlock himself.

Grindelwald grabbed the arm of the boy rather forcefully and slightly pulled him deeper into the forest. It took some time to be entirely out of earshot of the by now round two dozen Aurors that had appeared near the orphanage's ruins, where the fire still ransacked.

There was silence around them, Harry, who was still somewhat shocked at the recent events anxiously looked around the nearby forest, keeping an eye out for stray Aurors who decided to look in their direction for any abnormalities.

Gellert was searching through his coat pockets, before pulling out a necklace that was crowned by a little animated silver dragon.

"Get over here, I've found it," he whispered over to the boy, deciding to be careful in case they still would be heard at the clearing where to the orphanage once stood. He pulled the necklace over his head hand again grabbed the arm of the boy.

"What is it?" Harry asked in a quiet voice. "Emergency Portkey, now be quiet and ask questions when we're back." Grindelwald hissed his answer before whispering the code phrase to the little silver dragon, who promptly pulled both of them out of the forest.

This hadn't been the first time Harry had used a Portkey. It had actually been the third time, first travelling from London to France, then from France to Wales and now this time. He still couldn't get over the strange feeling in his naval area.

The first time they had used said Portkey, he instantly vomited and felt nausea for a solid half-hour. When they had arrived in Wales today, he had felt some strong headaches for an hour, but nothing worse.

This time though was a completely different experience. This was a lot harsher than the first to times and it nearly felt like someone had completely ripped off his entire lower and mid-body. Nausea and headaches from before came back but tenfold and an immense giddiness overcame him.

He felt a numb pain from slamming into to floor of the Delacour manor. He probably would have vomited then and there again. This time he couldn't.

Harry was only able to cough. Then, suddenly as seemingly usual recently, he had spit a large amount of blood onto the floor.

Grindelwald, who had been until now only standing aside, letting to boy gather his breath, now felt a strange wary rising in him as he saw the blood trifling down the boy's nose and mouth.

The opening of a door and the sharp gasp of a female voice pulled him out of his trance. He looked up and saw the daughter of the residing family standing in the door frame. She had her eyes fixed on Harry with an extremely concerned expression.

"Cherche ta mère Fleur, _vite_!" _'search your mother Fleur, quick!' _Grindelwald bellowed to the girl in French before going down onto one knee next to the boy, grabbing his face and looking at it carefully, evaluating any injuries that could possibly have been visible. He pulled out his wand and cast a few simple diagnostic charms, hoping to find something.

The loud clacking of the quickly approaching Madam Delacours shoes informed the man of the girl's success in locating her mother.

He got up and holstered the wand in his sleeve before picking up to boy and turning to the lady of the house. Casting one look at the boy, the French witch knew exactly what to do. She ordered the by now passed out Harry carrying, Grindelwald to follow her to the guest room the boy had been sleeping in.

Arriving in the room and putting the unconscious boy onto the bed the Delacour matriarch cast every diagnostic spell at her disposal on the boy, finding out little more then what the German had found out before her.

"Je crois..." she started in French before she switched to English "I believe ze boy 'as splinched 'imself."

"But we didn't Apparate, we used a Portkey," Grindelwald muttered. "Also there is no visible wound. Unless of course, you are talking about the possibility that he splinched himself internally."

"Zat is what I believe 'append. I know you used a Portkey, yet zat is all I can zink about." Apolline said, her voice wavering a little, unsure about her verdict a little bit herself. "Tous les symptômes correspondent." _'The symptoms fit.'_ Apolline muttered, more to herself than to the two conscious occupants of the room.

"Then give him a healing potion and we shall let him rest for a few hours." the German wizard decided sternly "I still have business to discuss with your husband."

With that, he left the room without another word. The two remaining witches hesitated a little.

Fleur Delacour was a very bright witch for her age. She had been tutored reading and writing for a few months now by her mother. This, of course, made her rather proficient in talking and listening already. And while she wasn't able to speak or understand English, she still got the gist of most of the conversations around her. She, for example, had understood that the boy was supposed to be given something to make him feel better.

She hadn't understood what but guessed it had to be some sort of potion.

Then the man had said something more to her mother, which she hadn't understood and which had left her mother clearly unsure of what to do.

The older French witch grabbed a vial which was filled with an orange-like coloured liquid. She uncorked it and took in the smell of the contents before trifling a few drops of the liquid in the mouth of the boy, who unconsciously swallowed the fluid and seemingly relaxed a bit.

His features smoothed and even got a slight smile tugging on the corners of his lips. Fleur got a little closer to the bed and looked more closely onto the features of the boy. Henry or Harry or something was his name.

In their brief time together so far, she had never heard his exact name. He once, of course, said it, as he had introduced himself to her, but he had been rather shy back then, so he had only murmured it out.

She could hear a slight laugh coming from the part of the room where her mother stood. Fleur glanced over to her, with a questioning look in her eyes. Apolline was looking at her with an adoring expression gracing her features.

"Pourquoi ne regardez-vous pas Harry pendandt qu'il dort?" '_Why don't you look over Harry, while he sleeps?_' her mother asked her "Il devrait se réveiller bientôt." '_He should wake soon._' the older veela added before she left the room, closing the door behind her. She already knew that her daughter wouldn't leave the boys side anyways.

She turned out to be right. As she found her daughter sleeping on the bed, next to Harry, as she got back. With a smile on her face, she left them to sleep out this day's events and went to make herself ready for bed too.

.oOo.

It had taken a few days for the boy to recover. In the meantime, Grindelwald had been active. Snatching up capable followers and helpful allies left, right and centre.

The majority of his newfound followers came from either the British Isles, where those in the known of his possible return and as enemies of the new Dark Lord saw him as an opportunity to bring Voldemort's fall. It was a rather interesting experience to be seen as the lesser evil or better person.

He, of course, had no interest in saving the wizarding world form some lunatic just for the sake of it. But it gave him an interesting opening.

He could, together with his son and followers, take on the role of the defenders of the people. He would unite Witches and wizards, Purebloods and Muggelborns alike.

The inbreeding puritans that were Tom Riddle and his merry band of misfits, while greatly annoying him, helped him in acquiring allies and followers alike.

His plans had changed drastically since they got set into motion and by now he though in a few years he would be able to take magical Britain by simply running for minister. Yet his plans where far greater than conquering only magical Brittain.

This was pleasing news, as he feared any innocent bloodshed could cripple helpful and profiting alliances all across Europe.

But at this point, he could be nothing more than a whisper in the dark. A murmur in the shadows.

If Dumbledore would get wind of his plans, he wouldn't have such a clear pathway. The old traditionalists would probably even support Dumbledore in his little campaign. It didn't help that he now lost every trace of the youngest Potter child. Harry would have to do, he didn't have to time to start searching for the girl months on months just to find out she died in the house fire.

No, he had to concentrate on three things already.

His first priority would have to be the gathering of followers, allies and supporters. This would be the turning point in his campaign, as they would be crucial on both ends of the plan. Should he manage to go all political, they would be his yes-men, his important fallback option. And while he didn't strive for a direct dictatorship, it certainly wouldn't hurt if he had agreeable political allies.

The Delacours, for example, were part of that plan. They wouldn't be much help during the direct confrontation on the British Isles. But if he won and if he took on Europe, or more specifically France, they would be a great help in both cases.

But should diplomacy and politics fail, he would need capable followers who knew their wand tip from handle.

This is were Harry sooner or later would come into play. The young boy steadily worked himself up the importance list in Grindelwald's eyes.

While he started up being only little more then a simple follower when they stood before the door of Privet Drive number four, he left as his son. By now, he would no doubt, after fitting training and preparations, of course, be among his most trusted advisers, generals, allies and friends.

Currently, he may be his son by blood and magic. But by heart, he was still a Potter. Still Lily and James' son. Still brother to Iris and the golden boy of the wizarding world.

'In a few years,' Grindelwald mused, 'the boy would truly be my son. And when that time came, he would undoubtedly be my successor.'

His son. His heir.

Until then, he would have to work on the boy's name. He couldn't be called Harry Potter and be the son of Gellert Grindelwald. His name alone, amongst his presence at his side, would rile up hundreds and thousands of witches and wizards against him.

No, he would have to make sure the boy couldn't be traced back to the Potters or the Durslies or however they were called.

Something more Latin would help, or more olden English. That would appeal to those traditionalistic idiots. Preferably something with H and similar enough to Harry for the boy to easily adapt.

Henry? No there have been enough Potters to be called Henry. No, it had to be something more unique.

Hadwin? Something about a friend in wartime was the meaning behind that one. The name of a born leader and with great focus on personal independence. A good choice, yet he was sure it wouldn't be Hadwin. No, he needed a better name. One with great meaning behind it.

Hadrian? Maybe… It would fit after all. He remembered once reading somewhere that people with the name Hadrian usually desired for people to join them and inspire them to act on a higher cause. They also usually had strong personalities and where great leaders. Aggressive, proud and stubborn as well as impatient and rebellious. A perfect fit.

Grindelwald smiled largely. Hadrian was a good name for a young child and a strong name for a great hero.

Now the only thing the boy would need is a new surname. He couldn't wander around being called Hadrian Grindelwald, at least not until he would come to power. Potter was of the table as well, for obvious reasons.

He briefly played with the thought of simply giving him the surname '_Töpfer_' which basically was Potter in German. But besides that being a dreadful name combination it was also to easy to guess.

Dumbledore was a smart man after all. He may hate the man, but he had to admit that he had a brilliant mind, the old fool. To top that, Dumbledore also spoke German, so that was off the table anyway.

Giving him the Delacour surname would certainly be the easiest choice for now, but that would have great political issues in a few years. Then again, he could have been the son of madam Delacour just as easy, as they both shared similar hair colours and some remotely similar facial features.

It still wouldn't make up for the possible political problems. He would be branded a bastard and shamed out of politics.

Another option, one he would rather not bring up, would have been to simply mask him as a son of one of his followers. Karkaroff wouldn't do. As wouldn't Dolohov or Rosier.

The later had only recently joined Grindelwald, seemingly urged by his mother and former supporter _Vinda Rosier_ who recently joined him again as well.

Then a grin formed on the old man's face. A plan had fallen in place, perfectly and Idea sprouted in the form of a great bright candle where before had been nothing.

Queenie Goldstein.

She would be perfect. The only trouble was in him not having heard from her in a long time.

She had been a very powerful witch and, more importantly than that, far younger than him. She would be around eighty by now, but that didn't matter much, as the magic in the wizards and witches granted them unusually long lives. But more powerful ones where those that lived even longer.

Grindelwald himself expected to remain in the world of the living for another two or three decades and that at the young age of a hundred years old. Not that these predictions mattered greatly, as he had multiple plans that would greatly extend his lifespan.

This brought him back to the third point in his priorities list. While only being a mystery or even legend to most, to him the Hallows were a reality, having held the elder wand with his own hands. But he had been brought back to zero, having lost all and every progress in his hunt for the Hallows he had made before being shut away from the world for half a century. This had been the only reason he was putting them last on his list, as it wasn't realistic to be aiming to regain his decades of lost knowledge ins such a short time.

He would much rather focus on the other items on the list, especially his son and the hunt for his long lost advisor Queenie Goldstein. Just her attendance alone would solve great many of his problems. Until then, Harry might just be called Bagshot, the surname of his great-aunt, but that could only be temporary.

.oOo.

Months later…

Harry and Grindelwald stood before the entry of a little inconspicuous shop.

Harry had spent the last few months learning to perfectly read and write, as well as complete his language training in English.

Soon he would begin learning French as well as German and Bulgarian, the old wizard had claimed it to be important to have as many languages at his disposal as possible.

Harry, or Hadrian as he had to now learn to use, believed French to be his first choice as a second language, as he had spent a large amount of time in France with the Delacours.

Both German and Bulgarian would do him good if he were to attend Durmstrang Institute over his current first-choice Hogwarts. And while Beauxbatons was a nice choice to make as well, the thought of a heavy focus on charms and enchanting wasn't a great interest of Harry.

Since he had completed his reading training, Harry had constantly been reading the most different and interesting magical books at his disposal.

While yet being unable to train with magic, he had started to grasp most theory work and started to read into non-wand subjects, like Herbology, Potions or Care of Magical Creatures.

He wasn't greatly interested in any of them. The only one of those he had read that even remotely piqued his interest had been magical creatures.

The only non-wand subjects he seemingly got the hang off only while reading was Ancient Runes and Divination.

Later seemed to have something to do with the fact that his father, Grindelwald, was a seer and his abilities had been passed down with his blood and his magic.

Currently, they found themselves in Germany in the magical part of Cologne, the German equivalent of magical London.

There was a noticeable difference though. The architecture of the magical part of the city was far more modern. While still nowhere near the muggle world and its comforts, the magical population of Germany didn't have to fell as many drawbacks as those in England.

The books that concerned itself with Muggles where far more recent than those found in Diagon Alley. The magical tombs, some containing spells far older then one would expect, dating far beyond the first century, deep into the centre of Roman magic, still strong with the Latin language.

The shabby shop they stood before had the dark silver lettering 'Gregorovitch Zauberstäbe' imprinted on its door. Gellert had explained to him that they would be going to buy some things needed for his pre-school education.

On the very top of that list was the reason they were here. To buy a brand new wand for him to learn, train and perfect casting spell with it.

Slowly entering the shop first, Harry took a look around the dimly lit old shop.

There was a small counter at the centre of the shop, a few old seats and benches were standing around like in a waiting area.

A few shelves graced the room together with animated pictures of a few people, none of which Harry could recognize.

"Wer seit ihr? Was wollt ihr in meinem Laden?" '_Who are you? What do you want in my shop?_' a stern, yet old, a voice yelled from the back room.

Harry looked behind him and saw that Gellert hadn't entered the shop with him. In his hand, he found a few gold coins that should cover the cost of one wand.

"I -" he started looking at the, only partially opened, door "- am here to buy a wand," Harry said, sounding more confident than he actually was.

_Silence._

"That is usually the reason come into this shop, isn't it?" Harry asked, coming off a little snider then he wanted to.

"Correct." the voice said, this time coming from a door on his right side. Which was completely open. From there, he could see a tall man coming out.

He had white hair, which was reaching his shoulders, and a beard that was covering his chin and cheeks. He wore a grey coat over a leathery brown coloured vest and pants as well as a blue shirt.

"You are far from home, Herr Potter" the wandmaker spoke with extreme malice in his voice. "Rumour has it you're dead! And still, I find you standing in my shop as if you owned the place."

"I don't know what you are talking about," Harry said, this time his uncertainty reeking through his voice more then he feared it would.

"No worries, I can keep a secret," he said nodding to the door, his tone suddenly changed completely. "So you want to get fitted for a wand? Good, let's get you measured up and then you will feel the wood, yes?" Gregorovitch asked, an inquisitive look lurking in his eyes.

"Sure? I guess?" Harry answered unsure of what to expect. "Good!" the old man said and pulled out a simple-looking wand from his pocket pointing it at the boy. A few tape measurement roles flew out of the tip of his wand and started measuring his arm, hand, head and upper body while an enchanted quill took all the information down into a book that had been resting on the centre counter.

"Left or right?" the old man asked, looking at the measurements in his book, which were still being written. "What?" Harry asked, looking slightly confused.

"Which hand are you using to cast? Left or right? It's your dominant arm, you usually should also write with it..." he paused looking expectantly at the young boy.

"Oh, yeah… uh... right." He answered, still warily looking at the flying tape. "Good, now step closer, I want you to touch each of these woods until you find the one that calls for you."

"How will I know it calls for me?" Harry asked, fascinated by the large selection of differently coloured woods. "You just will!" the old man said, sighing impartiality before pushing the first selection of woods over to the boy.

It was a long process of trial and error until the very last piece of wood was before him.

"Yew." the old man said, watching the boy take the piece of wood in his hand. "Either it is this one, you didn't feel the reaction or you are just one -" the old man started his little rant, but was cut short by a loud vibrating sound coming from the piece of Yew wood in the hands of the boy.

"Thank god, took long enough..." Gregorovitch muttered before snatching the piece of wood from the hands of the boy again.

"Now I need some blood of yours. It has to be charged with magic, your own magic, so you will have to bite yourself a wound in your finger or something, as long as it doesn't tamper with the magic flow in your body." the old man said, already writing something down next to the measurements on the piece of parchment.

Sensing the boy was hesitating, he looked up into the boys blue eyes. Strange, he could have sworn they had been green when he last looked into them. "What are you waiting for, boy!" he bellowed, "I don't have all day."

Harry took a deep breath, _focus_, and bit down onto his finger until he could taste the coppery liquid running down his teeth. He wiped away the saliva and pressed down onto the finger with his thumb and index from the other hand to spill some more blood onto the small tray that had been handed to him.

The old wandmaker finished off his notes and took the little bowl into the back room while saying "This'll take some time. Be patient!", he didn't emerge from the side room for quite some time after that. After an hour the man came back, holding a simple-looking, yet so magnificent piece of yew wood. If Harry had to guess, the wand was a good thirteen, maybe fourteen inches long.

"Yew wood, very rigid and sechsunddreißig centimetres long." The old man said while handing him the piece of wood.

A rush of warmth overcame him as soon as he touched it. He could feel it spreading from his hand to his arm to his body. A gentle golden aura radiated from him for a second before the effect was lifted.

"You have very strange magic, Herr Potter, you are certainly no _nicht-Zauberer._" the man intoned the last bit as if to assure the boy of something. "I have rarely ever seen such a core that was supposed to be in a wand, Herr Potter, but it is even rarer to posses one like this." He made a great pause before continuing, trying to find the right words in English.

"You see, usually these cores aren't sold, as they are immensely difficult to control and nearly impossible to acquire. There was never a wand with more than one-fourth of this amount in its core. No one has used this as a singular core in over two millennia. Last recorded possession of a pure Chimera scale core wand was during the time of the Roman empire. When Chimeras were more common than today." The craftsman got quieter and quieter while losing himself in the perfected imperfections of the wands wood.

"You know, Herr Potter, there have been more slain Basilisks over the past century, then there have been chimaera sightings." he sighed slightly, looking up at the boy, before pointing to his book.

"You will have to pay me and be done with it." Harry was unsure of why the man was so unhappy at just having made a seemingly potentially amazing deal.

"How much will this one cost me? I am not sure I will be able to afford such a luxurious wand." Harry asked, slight suspicion in his voice.

"That is the part that greatly annoys me you see, -" the man started explaining "I recently changed my prices to a fixed price per wand." Harry had a creeping suspicion at what he was about to hear.

"Because I was losing customers at the thought of having to pay to much for certain wands or to little for others, fearing their quality. So I changed the price, similar to that old crazy Olivander, -" a man being called crazy by Gregorovitch had to be a really insane person, Harry thought "- to ten of your British galleons a wand who don't have one of the more usual ingredients. Well, I am magically bound to my work as a wandmaker to deliver my promises, so you will owe me ten golden coins for a wand worth thousands of galleons."

Harry counted the coins in his hand and gave the man ten, who seemingly didn't even realise that he did, as he was currently wailing in his misery. He quickly turned, wand in hand, and left the little shop.

Standing on the street, he looked around hoping to see Grindelwald anywhere. A large man with dark hair and eyes and pale skin stood near the corner of the store he had just spend a good two hours at.

Their gazes met and Harry quickly recognized a short change in eye colour to the ice blue of his father. A gentle smile grew on the man's face as he looked down onto the wand in his hand.

"Father," Harry said as he approached the man. "I've got it. What's next." Grindelwald only held out his hand for the wand, looking expectantly at the boy to comply.

The second the wand touched his hand he felt a burning hot sensation as if he had just grabbed a molten piece of metal or steel.

Without a seconds hesitation, he dropped the wand back into the hand of the boy, slightly surprised at the magical properties of the boys' wand.

"Hadrian -" he sounded slightly stunned, as he looked down onto his now burned hands. "- what kind of wand is that?!"

Harry, remembering what the old wand-maker had said, only shook his head and whispered something about 'not here'.

Gellert, usually not someone to be surprised by such simple things, only nodded took the boy with him to the next store they would have to visit before they could start the schooling of Harry Potter, son of James and Lilly Potter, to Hadrian Grindelwald, Son of Gellert Grindelwald.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ _There we have it, another chapter done._

_Please let me know what you thought about the chapter, as said before, criticism and any other form of feedback are greatly appreciated. Please show support to this story by following, favouriting and letting me know you want a new chapter._

_I currently am slightly Ill and have pain in my arm and back, so there might be no chapter for a few days, but I currently have two and a half weeks holidays so please let me now you want a new chapter, I will get on it, as I now have long enough Freetime at my disposal._

_Hope you enjoyed reading this far. Thank you again for taking the time to read my story it means a lot to me._


	3. Mentorship

_**A/N:** Next chapter done. _

_Wow. I really didn't expect this story to gain such extreme traction this fast. On the same day, I released the last chapter this story nearly gained a thousand views in less than twenty-four __hours__._

_People seem to generally enjoy what I write and I really enjoy writing this story. I appreciate you guys taking the time to read this and go into dialogue with me when you're done. I've had multiple very interesting discussions with people who read the last two chapters._

_Well, I hope you enjoy reading this next chapter as well._

**_!Please read the Authors Note at the end of the chapter. I will have a few questions to your opinions on a few things in this one.!_**

* * *

_**Chapter Three**_

_Mentorship_

_Three and a half years later._

A green light bolt shot out of the tip of Grindelwald's Ashwood wand. The man, who had been standing before him, fell to the ground, instantly dead, his soul ripped from his body as soon as the curs hit his chest.

Screams could be heard echoing through the long floors and halls of Nurmengard castle.

At Gellert's side walked his son, his wand in his hand, yet still not able to duel beyond the capabilities of a thirteen-year-old, which was rather impressive for any normal child, judging by the fact he only recently turned eight, but not good enough to take on fully grown men by himself.

It had been a strangely stormy and cold October night on the Austrian Alps. Snow, that had been falling over the last few days, was being flung high into the air again, making anyone who would be idiotic enough to travel the Alps in these weather conditions nearly entirely blind after walking a few feet.

The castle was a far up the mountains, the reason for the seemingly early snowfall, which made it nearly impossible for any intruders to enter it.

Yet, as Grindelwald himself made the plans to build the very same castle, he was aware of many weaknesses and secret passageways. Only thanks to him, was the group of twelve wizards and witches able to secretly sneak into the castle and unleash havoc onto the German and Austrian wizards who had been guarding the prison castle and its inhabitants.

A smile crept over the old wizards face as he saw one of the idiotic guards contort and twine under the torture curse one of his allies had him under. Antonin Dolohov was wielding the wand, a maniacal grind smeared on his face, fiery eyes filled with hatred and grim satisfaction burned into the contorted features of the young man squirming on the floor below him.

"Antonin, enough!" Grindelwald spoke, a calm voice in this maddening onslaught of screams and death, yet so authoritative to give anyone in earshot chills. The man instantly lowered his wand and looked over to the blond wizard standing a few feet next to him.

"Hadrian." the Gellert spoke, more softly the usual, turning to his son. The small smile never having left his features. "Finish Dolohov's work. Kill that pathetic excuse for a guard!" cold like stone the words echoed through the hallway.

The guard on the floor looked up at the two wizards standing above him, his eyes caught those of the boy next to the dark wizard. His own eyes shimmered with the dying tears that had spilt through the pain, pleading, hoping that the boy would spare him, spare his life. But the eyes he meet where filled with cold determination, like ice blue spears ramming into his head, showing simple and unwavering confidence.

The boy's arm rose, an elegant wand in his hand.

"_Diffindo_"

Hadrian only whispered the incantation, yet the bright pink blot that shot out of his wand easily severed the man's head from his body.

The guard's features frozen in a silent scream, a surprised look in his eyes, lingering fear and torment had gripped hold of that man's last few moments. The head slumped to the side and blood spilt onto the cold stone floor.

Hadrian didn't waver. He didn't take his eyes off the corpse, nor did he swallow uncomfortably. He just stared.

It hadn't been the first time he had been forced to kill someone. He didn't enjoy it, yet he knew it had to be done, a necessity. This was no different, he had been kind to the man. He allowed him a quick and painless death.

Had he refused to do it, Antonin would have crushed the man's skull with some dark curse, sliced him open with some ancient spell or even used one of his own creations. He'd done the man a favour.

"Well done, my boy." Gellert spoke softly "You've proven yourself again and again. We are done here, you will go back to France with Igor and continue your training in duelling."

"Why can't I stay with you, father?" Hadrian asked carefully, a gentle frown crossed his features. The old sorcerer had promptly taken the place of the father figure after only a few months. Since then Hadrian didn't like leaving his side for too long.

While it wasn't as bad as is used to be, two years back, Hadrian nearly hadn't left the side of the old man at all. By now he had grown more independent, yet still feared separation from the old man for a long distance of time.

"You will not be of any use here, while in France, you will be able to continue your studies, which will be of great use to us both.

"Furthermore, it won't be too long." Gellert continued, "When I am done here with the others, I will get you and we will begin your studies in rituals and maybe even Spellcraft."

Hadrian took a slow step forward, his eyes had turned from the ice blue they had possessed before to the gentle emerald green of his former mother.

Gellert spread his arms and pulled the head of the boy against his shoulder in a tight hug, before releasing him and whispering, only audible to the boy, "Go. Now! Go, my boy."

Hadrian turned around and walked down the hallway, where Karkaroff, the silvery dark-haired wizard, had appeared and was waiting for him to accompany him. Grindelwald rose to his feet and watched the boy leaving with the Durmstrang headmaster.

He turned to face the last door of the Hall, a soft pop gave him confirmation of the disappearance of the old wizard and the boy, before raising his stolen wand. A bright orange bolt slammed into the door, completely incinerating the ancient wood and its protective spells.

A few of his followers stood behind him, all had their wands raised and pointed at the door, awaiting the appearance of the imprisoned soul. Gellert lowered his wand, the smile reappearing again.

A woman, dressed in a simple grey robe, slowly walked out into the hallway. She, unlike the other wizards and witches they had freed from their imprisonment, stood tall with an authoritative glare in her green eyes.

She pushed a strand of white-blonde hair from her face. A gentle smile appeared on her features as her eyes fell onto the group of wizards and witches standing there. "Took you long enough," she uttered in a mocking sound, looking directly at the German wizard in the middle. She slowly stepped forward, the smile grew to a full-on laugh, so uncaring of the world, completely disregarding the dead bodies, some brutally maimed and mutilated, on the floor before her.

She came to a halt directly before the old wizard, she gently bit her bottom lip while measuring up the man before her. "Still charming as ever I see, hm Gellert?" she laughed again, pulling the man into a deep hug, who reciprocated the gesture slightly more stiffly.

Then, she suddenly took a step back, her entire behaviour drastically changed. She turned to one of the younger wizards of the group, a mere boy with long brown hair that nearly reached his shoulders and a thick leather coat. He tightly clung to his wand, which he still held in his hand pointed at the woman, having seemingly not noticed the behaviour of his fellow witches and wizards as well as his leader, who had all lowered their wands.  
"I… am… NOT CRAZY!" she hissed at him, her eyes lighting up in a fierce flame, before stepping closer to the boy who suddenly felt extremely small. The woman was nothing more than around five-foot-four, while the man who was now cowering from her gaze stood at a proud six-foot-three.

The boy only nodded, taking a hesitant step back, still visibly shaken. He lowered his wand and looked to the floor, muttering a quick 'sorry' to the woman.

"You are still thinking it," she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. Grindelwald took a step forward, placing a soothing hand on the back of the woman.

"I am sure that Mister Winterberg here meant no offence, didn't he?" He spoke with cold certainty, taking the boy into a scrutinizing glare.  
"N-no Miss, I am t-truly sorry." the boy stuttered, now also facing his lords' disapproval. He looked up at the, while noticeably older, yet still rather attractive woman. "Please, -" he began talking but was swiftly interrupted by the blonde Legilimens.

"Why thank you, my dear, how flattering." a smirk appeared on her face "Yet, you still believe I am crazy, your mind doesn't lie." she paused, her eyes turning cold with disdain, the smile vanishing. "I don't appreciate that."

"Rudolf!" Grindelwald spoke loudly, causing the boy to wince at being addressed so directly. "Hand me your wand, boy!" he nearly hissed, while stretching out his hand to receive the wand.

Rudolf Winterberg, the young German wizard, slowly, hesitantly even, put his wand into the outstretched hand of Grindelwald.

Gellert took the wand in his hand, carefully examining it. "Holly, hm… eleven-one-quarter inches. Core?" he asked while pointing the wand at a wall. "Unicorn hair, my lord."

"Unicorn hair… A fine wand you got yourself, my boy." Grindelwald spoke a near fatherly tone in his voice, letting the man replenish his hope of surviving his mistaken indiscreetness. Gellert then grabbed the wand by its tip and held the handle over to the woman at his side.

"You see, my boy, this woman here -" he said in a low and threatening growl like tone "- Has been at my side for over half a century, so you could say she is an old friend. Her faith never wavered since joining our cause. I would trust her with almost anything."  
The room had considerably dropped temperature, almost matching the one on the outside.

"I am sure, my boy, you won't mind her using your wand for a little while, don't you?" He asked, his voice clearly indicating that there was no choice to be made here.

"Of course, my lord, she shall use it as long as she wishes." He quickly said, nodding eagerly, with the hope that he may please the wizard.

"Of course you realise, that there never was any real choice to that matter, as you yourself won't be needing the wand any time soon." Grindelwald turned to the woman at his side, while still having addressed the boy.

She slightly tilted her head, her nose crinkling slightly due to her smiling brightly. The woman took the wand from Gellert, inspecting it carefully as the older wizard had done it before. True joy clearly visible in her shimmering green eyes.

She then turned to the boy, her smile fell and a cold expression took hold of her features. Her arm rose, the holly wand nonchalantly held in place by her thumb, index- and middle finger, the tip pointed directly at the face of the boy.

"_Crucio!_"

Hissing the incantation, the boy dropped to the floor in a wild spasm, flinching and contorting in pain. A loud scream echoed through the halls, finding its source within his lungs.

She began laughing, a brilliant smile on her face, her eyes lighting up with joy at the warm feeling the wand gave her hand.

She lifted the curse, leaving the boy to gather his breath again, turning to Grindelwald she wore an excited smile. "What a wonderful early birthday present. I needed one of these for about half a century now, how did you know?"

"I know, my dear, I know." Grindelwald's glare still fixated on the boy, who had fought himself to his knees. A pleading look on his face, he looked quite similar to the pathetic guard his son had executed while kneeling and silently begging for his life.

The witch turned back to the boy, her eyes fixated on his, her arm rose again. "N-no, p-p-please don't -" the boy whispered.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

A green bolt of light shot out of the tip of her wand, a rushing noise accompanying it, hitting the boy straight into his chest, he slumped to the ground. A pleased grin washed over her features, the wand in her hand moaning in pain at being misused.

"Now that you have killed one of my most promising followers -" Grindelwald turned to her, "- Welcome home, Queenie dear."

Queenie Goldstein snapped the wand in her hands, before smiling again. "You win some you lose some." she sighed, letting the pieces of the holly wand fall to the floor "I will need to look for Thiago Quintana. I need a proper wand." with that she turned to the others, "Which one of you will accompany me to America"  
None of the present people steeped forward, all looking slightly apprehensive. Queenie lost her patience, turning to Gellert again. "I won't be able to go alone and I will need a river monster spine core wand."

"Fine, take Evan Rosier, he won't be needed here for now." Grindelwald turned to the man in question. "I don't care what happens on that trip, boy, but If she gets hurt in the slightest, you will wish you were dead!"

The man only nodded before looking over to the woman. She smiled warmly at him, something that made him greatly uncomfortable. He quickly reinforced his Occlumency shields, making sure that she wasn't looking into his head like she had done with that poor boy.

He nodded with his head in respect, simulating a bow, and stood aside from his arm pointing at the hall entrance where, not too long ago, Karkaroff and the brat of Grindelwald had disappeared.

Queenie giggled excitedly, making a curtsey, and walking off. Evan held in a sigh and began to follow the woman, he had only one thought on his mind.

This was going to be one long trip.

* * *

_One year later_

Gellert Grindelwald stood tall, his back straight like a soldier standing at attention. He held his new wand in hand.

Made from Blackthorn, infused with a Thunderbird tail feather core, fifteen-inches long and as rigid and as unyielding as the core and wood would suggest.

He firmly held the wand in his hand, pointing it sternly at his opponent. Hadrian Grindelwald stood in a similar stance.

The room was small, nearly completely unlit and empty. There was no place to duck behind if the need were to arise and similarly took the opportunity to summon or banish items at the opponent at will.

The Blackthorn wand suddenly jerked, as Grindelwald snapped with his wrist, and a blue blot shot out off its tip.

Hadrian made a quick sidestep, the spell missing him by only a few inches, before shooting a stunner at the old wizard, who simply batted it away.

"Now, now… that is surely not everything Karkaroff and Dolohov taught you, is it now?" Grindelwald sneered. A wicked grin danced over the man's face. "But you are seemingly thinking you are proficient in avoiding spells. Then how about we dance a little."

With that he shot three purple curses at the boy, which Hadrian didn't recognize, causing him to, again, sidestep so he would avoid getting hit by them.

An unwise move, as it turned out to be, due to the fact that, of course, the old wizard having predicted his movement and so send the curses slightly spread at the boy, causing the curses to cover a larger angle.

While having sidestepped and successfully avoided the first one, the second curse hit him straight in the chest, sending the boy flying across the room, into the wall behind him.

Hadrian could feel the bones in his ribcage braking as the curse connected. But he didn't wail or scream. He inhaled sharply instead and slowly got up again.

Grindelwald applauded, "As resilient as a bear, I give you that. But you are also as agile and as predictable as an animal that weighs ten times as much as you."

His father slowly shook his head. "If this would have been a real duel-" he paused, looking down onto his wand, "- I would have killed you without hesitation."

Grindelwald looked up again, meeting his own blue eyes in the gaze of the boy. "This all, of course, is completely without taking into consideration, that you had the chance to fire a useful spell against me and decide to go with a stunner.

"I must say, either you didn't spend enough time training, you haven't paid enough attention during your lessons or Karkaroff and Dolohov have become sloppy." Gellert said one could think he was disappointed.

Hadrian piqued up at that, he looked down onto his beautifully handcrafted yew wand, one of the most powerful and rarest cores to ever be used in a wand. An immense determination flooded his heart. The adrenalin from his injury sharpened his senses and reflexes.

He toned out the pleading of his body, begging him to rest and get healed. With immense speed, Hadrian raised his wand and released a purple severing charm, followed by an orange cutting curse and a Bonebraker, hoping to catch his father by surprise.

Hadrian even copied his father and spread the spells over a slight angle, hoping his father would only have time to sidestep and fall into the same trap as he did by overwhelming him with the speed and suddenness of his attack.

With power and speed, the severing charm slammed into the cold brick wall behind his father, who managed to Apparate out of the way of the spell, before it would have hit him.

"Opportunistic… very interesting." jeered the older "If you had already mastered non-verbal casting, a feat far beyond you at this point in time, you would have hit me." Gellert stated in an approving tone.

"Looks like Igor and Antonin managed to teach you one thing or another -" He was interrupted by an incantation he didn't recognize.

"_Furvus Fulmen!_"

The boy cried out the incantation and a thunder-like explosion rang through the room. Fog, smoke and falling debris were crowding the room.

Grindelwald waved with his wand, causing the debris to stop falling and the smoke and fog to settle and resolve.

A massive hole was blown into the wall of the small room, the stones, or what was left of them, were residing in liquid, molten and glowing hot remains splattered over the floor. The wall where the spell hat hit, the ceiling and floor showed burn marks.

Looking into the hallway, the wall on the opposite side to the room was heavily damaged, showing similar fire marks to those in their room.

With a completely unreadable expression gracing his features, he slowly turned around again, looking at the boy.

Hadrian had seemingly given in to the pain of having a completely broken rib-cage and was now slumped over, kneeling on the floor and breathing heavy. Gellert moved over to him, stepping over the rocks and debris which had fallen from the ceiling.

This time, he hadn't been expecting the boy to use his explanation to shoot a bolt. He had thought that, after using the same tactic once and failing, he would have learnt and wouldn't use it again.

But he had been mistaken, the boy hadn't learned from his mistake, yet it had nearly paid off. Had the boy been a non-verbal caster, the bolt of magic would have torn through him like the exploding charm through paper.

But thanks to the remarkable wand his hands, his years of battle experience and sheer luck with a few reflexes, he was still standing on his own two feet.

The spell the boy had used, none he knew, was dripping with dark magic. Furvus, Latin for black, dark or obscure, and Fulmen, Latin for bolt or lighting.

Hadrian and he had been working on Ancient Runes and Arithmancy for the past few months. The boy turned out to be a complete natural at both subjects, proven by this spell he had just used.

It wasn't a terribly complex spell, but the seemingly perfect pronunciation, the intent behind the casting and the unique wand of the caster, mixed with the strongest magical core he had ever seen in a nine-year-old, created a spell which could have had rather devastating effects on anyone with less then masterful knowledge of charms and the reflexes of a peak playing Quidditch professional or masterful duellist.

"Truly remarkable..." the old wizard could hear himself say. His gaze had wandered back to the gigantic hole in the wall.

He turned back to the boy, who was now standing right beside him again, trying to suppress his pain and push it into the background. A sickening crunching could be heard as the boy tried to stand tall, matching the pose of his father.

His attempt failed, he nearly slumped over again and hissed strongly. Trying to stamp down on the moaning and screaming stuck in his throat due to the immense pain.

Hadrian took another deep breath, focus, he closed his eyes. He imagined standing on the edge of the coastline again, he imagined he was the centuries-old stone cliff, he imagined the pain was the waves that tickled him in heavy weather.

He took another deep breath, focus, he opened his eyes again. He saw the destruction, he saw his father, he saw his wand resting in his hand. He clutched it, hard, not wanting to let go of his precious catalyst.

Hadrian saw how his father looked him up, measuring him, judging him. It was an intense glare, one that would be terrifying if he hadn't known what type of man his father was.

He could feel his father's hand on his shoulder, slowly pushing him down onto the floor. Hadrian could see the Blackthorn wand which was pointed at his chest, a golden glow emitted from the tip of the wand.

Warmth, welcoming and gentle, spread in his body. A slightly uncomfortable tickling could be felt as his bones rearranged in his body, slowly mending and returning to their original place. He could feel his strength returning to him.

He looked back down onto the wand, from which his gaze had wandered before, an idea forming in his head.

Grindelwald was on one knee next to his son, who was currently in the middle of re-growing his rib-cage. A smile crossed the old man's face, it still surprised him, after five years, how he valued the boy, his son, by now.

Nurmengard had made him soft. Soon he would be joining old Albus in a care home if he wasn't careful.

Thanks to his musings, he missed a slight movement below him. The boy, who had shortly lost his consciousness was awake again. Grindelwald, who still had his wand pointed at the boy but lost in thought, realized too late that the boy had shot a disarming charm at him. From close range, the projectile hit the old man straight into the chest and launched him a few feet back, causing him to lose grip on his wand which landed perfectly in the hand of the boy before he even slammed onto the floor again.

This had caught the wizard completely off guard.

"I -" the boy started, but the up-whirled smoke and dust crept into his lungs, causing him to enter a rather uncomfortable coughing fit. Distracted by his own handicap, he lost control of the situation and only felt the wand of his father slip from his hands again.

"Don't gloat if you are vulnerable." his mentor chided him, getting up from the dirty floor and cleaning of his robes. "Looks like, you still haven't learnt that trying to get me while I am distracted will be successful."

Hadrian only grinned at his father, before pointing at the floor below the old wizard. "You are standing on debris, father. _Don't gloat if you are vulnerable._ If this would have been a real duel, I would have banished the debris bellow you without hesitation. You would have been distracted and I would have been able to disarm you again." his grin only grew, he had beaten his father with his own logic. "As you said yourself, _Opportunistic_."

Grindelwald only stared at the boy for a few seconds, before realising what the kid had done. Hadrian had turned the game against him. HE, a mere nine-year-old boy, had shown resourcefulness that would have made a seventh year Slytherin blush.

In other words, Hadrian had gone from being in Check to putting the old man in checkmate.

Then he started to laugh. Wonderful!

This boy had played and outplayed him. Of course, nearly three years of training with Dolohov and Karkaroff would make anyone resourceful. By the time his son would be seventeen, he would be one of the most feared duellists and most skilled wizards of the last century.

He would teach this boy everything he knew. From now on he was going to make sure that everything the boy was learning would sit. He was going to be a true mentor to the boy. He would teach him the secrets of manipulating the elements, he would make sure the boy's proficiency in duelling was nothing short of his own and he would make sure the boy would be as much of a master in magic as he was. His own skill-set reaching from Charms and Transfiguration over Magical Creatures and Dark Arts to healing, reading runes, non-verbal and wandless magic as well as an immense proficiency in Divination and ritual magic.

He would make sure that by the time Hadrian Grindelwald reached his seventeenth winter, he would be skilled in all of these subjects better than any, second only to his mentor and father. The jump between the two would be so little, that it would make little to no difference.

* * *

_Two years later_

Fleur Delacour, who had blossomed into a beautiful young girl at the age of eleven already, stood next to her mother and her little baby sister as they waited for their father to join them in their manors entrance hall.

It had been nearly two years since she last saw Harry. He had allowed her to still call him Harry, as he liked for her to remember his innocent self, back when they were four.

She was positively beaming at the thought of finally seeing Harry again. She knew this would be the last time she saw him before she would leave for Beauxbatons Academy to begin her magical education. She then wouldn't see him, at least, for another year, likely longer, as his father had worked restlessly on his magical proficiency with the boy since he had turned nine.

She believed him to be already far above most years of most schools. He would learn very little at whichever school he would attend, should he even do so.

This saddened her a little. She knew that he was neither interested nor invited to join Beauxbatons. A shame. She could have used his companionship in her upcoming seven years.

Her mother had, years ago, explained to her that veela would sooner or later stand there alone during these times.

She would grow and blossom into a young woman, boys would start to notice her more than other girls. She then would lose her friends due to them being envious of her beauty and the attention she would be getting. Then she would stand there, alone, without anyone at her side.

"Allons-y, nous ne le laiserons pas attendre." '_Let's go, we shouldn't let him wait_' the voice of her father suddenly appeared behind her. She hadn't heard him come down the stairs.

Fleur only nodded eagerly, wanting to go as quickly as possible as well. She had forgotten that her parents would be having a meeting with Harry's father while they were there.

She had rarely ever changed words with the man. She found him to be rather scary, more than anything. His words mirrored those of a lullaby, soothing, pulling and perfectly enveloping, enchanting those around him to hang at his lips. Fleur remembered vividly how her parents came home one day, talking about a man they had met during work. A few days later, her mother had gone on a trip to England, one on which she couldn't join, only to return with three other people, one of which being a boy who wasn't much older then herself, only able to English, and the other two adults who only wished to talk to her parents.

So she decided to make friends with the boy, which was more difficult the first thought, due to the always present language barrier. Two days later, she found out that the boy was locked up in his room, '_getting some needed rest_'.

On the evening the next day, she had heard a loud slamming in their entrance hall. The boy and his father had arrived from some sort of trip up north. The boy had vomited blood onto the floor as soon as she had entered.

The rest of the day had been nothing short of a blur. She remembered waking up the next day, curled up under the blankets of the warm bed Harry had been resting in, as she had only the evening before learned his name.

He had been gone by the time she had woken up, '_discussing matters with his father'_, her mother had said, _'do not dream of disturbing them Fleur!'_. So she didn't.

After the events of that night, they had seen each other lesser and lesser. He would always be working on his reading and writing. Later-on he would begin to read books on complex magical subjects her parents didn't allow her to read yet.

One time, she had managed to sneak into his room without her parents noticing while he had been reading a book. She had silently sat next to him for hours reading the pages in unison without sound.

Then even that became a lesser occurrence. He had gotten his wand around the age of six. Something Fleur decided back then was a grave unfairness, as she wasn't allowed to get hers until she would turn eleven or get her Beauxbatons invitation letter.

She remembered once trying to take Harry's wand to try to cast a spell. This had been the first and last time she had ever touched the wood of the yew wand.

If she wouldn't have been a veela, she would have gotten severe and long-lasting burns form simply touching the wood. Due to her blood, she luckily lost the scar after a few months.

She had remembered, after being forced to by her parents, the humbling experience of having to apologize to both Harry and his father for her actions.

The reactions had been two completely different ones then she had anticipated.

Harry's father had been the first Fleur apologized to. He had simply looked at her, before saying that this sort of happenings did not concern him, yet he would accept her apology because she promised never to try and take any of Harry's belongings without his or his father's allowance.

She then joined Harry on the balcony of the manor. He had been sitting there, sitting on the small railing that parted save balcony and twenty-foot drop, his feet dangling down while reading a book on magical creatures or something like that.

It had been a rather cool November day. She had frozen, while he had been sitting there, completely unfazed by the harsh winds and low temperature.

He hadn't even looked up to her when she stood next to him. This had been nearly three and a half years ago now. But even today, she could vividly remember the shame she had felt as she stood there next to him.

'_I wanted to apologize_' she had said, her voice had been wavering strongly, even if she had learned a decent amount of English by then, she hadn't been able to put what she wanted to say into words, so she had simply spoken in French to him. '_I wanted to apologize for trying to take your wand, it wasn't mine to take and I have made a wrong choice_'. Only then he had looked up from his book, but he didn't look up into her face, but rather onto her hands.

She remembered how he had taken her hands into his and carefully examined her burns. '_Would you do it again?_' He had asked her without even acknowledging her attempt at an apology. '_If you knew what was to happen, would you try to use the wand again? If you had known it back then, would you have done it?_'

Fleur hadn't been able to respond vocally to his question, she wanted to shake her head and apologize again, but before she could, he stopped her. 'I don't want you to tell me what you think I want to hear. I want you to tell me what you would actually do.' This time he had spoken in English, causing her to rethink what she wanted to say.

'Yes.' she had answered after a long time thinking on to question. 'I would 'ave taken it again. I would 'ave taken it ze very first time I did.' She had answered in heavily accentuated English.

He had only looked at her for a few seconds and returned to his book, not paying her attention. Fleur had stood next to him for a few more minutes, deciding on what he thought of her answer. She even had begun to grow frustrated, which ultimately caused her to utter out, barely audible, the very same question.

'Would you 'ave?'

Without a seconds hesitation, he had answered, simply without any explanation, without looking up from his book 'Yes!'

* * *

This had been the first time Fleur had ever set foot onto the stony ground of Nurmengard Castle.

It was a simple and far from beautiful place. But he magic in this place was grand and powerful. Thick and potent like some form of nourishing fog. It felt like every single breath she took made her stronger.

Her mother took the lead, her father gently pulled her little sister along with him. With swift steps they walked the stony hallways, their movement echoing through the empty floors. Fleur had the lingering sensation of being watched from the shadows, a gently tugging at the corner of her mind, a hush of wind like something was breathing down her neck.

The family reached a large oak door, which seemingly held the entrance to some grand hall, guarded safely behind its existence. Apolline gently pressed her hand against the heavy door, a blue flame shoot up the wood, causing the wood to be completely incinerated and revealing, as suspected, a large hall.

Usually, the first glance would go up to the high ceiling of one such hall, but in this very case, the slightly raised round area in the middle of the room pulled her gaze.

Not because of it being especially out of place or because it was completely surrounded by black, cursed fire that held the two people within the area. Hell, it wasn't even the two people within the circle that pulled her attention. It was much rather what they were doing.

She saw a young boy, not much older than herself, and an older man, who she instantly recognized as Harry's father. These two people currently were having an extremely intense duel.

It took quite some time for her to realize that the boy, who was currently fighting one of the most powerful wizards of all time, was indeed Hadrian. He had grown quite a bit since they last saw each other.

They had been able to keep somewhat irregular contact through letters, but it never went longer than a week before Harry had to focus more on his studies again. In these letters he had explained to her the importance of calling Harry Hadrian before his father and that no one was supposed to know his true name.

She found herself at the outer most border of the bluely lit fire ring. She hadn't realized that she had been walking towards the duel, wanting to see more, wanting to see the duel from closer.

What happened next probably happened over the course of just ten seconds.

She noticed, that Harry had been looking into her direction for maybe half a second, causing him to be distracted and not on guard for the next spell that was coming his way.

An orange bolt made its way over the platform, faster then most would be able to react to. It slammed into Hadrian's chest, causing the bones in the impacted area to give off an unhealthy crunching sound. It also catapulted him a few feet back directly to the innermost border of the cursed fire. Another bolt shot over the platform, this time Hadrian was able to deflect it, as he wasn't able to do much more, with his mobility being strongly incapacitated by the fact that he had been forced to his knees.

"_Crucio!_"

The voice of the old man hissed, the torturing curse instantly finding its target, demolishing all of the boy's defences in its way. Hadrian's face was contorted in pain, yet he didn't scream. He tried to stand up, the pressure of the curse weighing him down, semi-successful. His eyes were now beaming in a deep green. The fire behind those eyes was quite strongly visible.

"You… dinghn't… plehy… bhuy thghe ruhls" Hadrian pressed out, his jaw locked in pain. Against all odds, the fought against the painful sensation that was combined with raising his wand arm.

With a thunderous explosion, a black bolt shot out of the tip of his wand, slamming into the older wizard on the other side of the circle. Hadrian's father had been able to summon a magical shield, saving himself only barely from certain death through the cursed black blot.

This subsequently had caused the older wizard to lift the curse on Hadrian, allowing the boy to now get onto to forefoot with the attack.

Fleur didn't catch a singular of the incantations the boy used. Even if she would have, she most likely wouldn't have been able to identify the curses and spells he had flung at the older man.

Hadrian suddenly stopped in his onslaught of the older man's shield. His wand still pointed steadily at his father.

Then he asked his mentor, in a near matter-of-fact tone of voice and with a grand grind "Stalemate?"

Grindelwald slowly wanted to stand up, but the boy shook his head and shot another purple spell into the direction of the old wizard "No standing up until you accept the stalemate."

"We've never drawn, boy, and I am not about to lose to you. I am still -" Grindelwald started but was ultimately interrupted by an all too familiar incantation, but this time coming from the boy.

"_Crucio!_"

Similar to his own torturing curse, the curse of the boy simply smashed his fathers' defences, leaving fluctuating magic in their place. But in contrast to the torturing curse he had bestowed onto the boy, this one was far more painful.

Combined the anger the boy had channelled through his own torture with the unique wand core and strong magic, it created an unbelievably tearing experience. The weight of Hadrian's curse forced the older man completely to the floor.

Deciding he had enough, Hadrian walked over to his mentor, bowing down and snatching up his wand, effectively lifting the torture curse and banishing the cursed fire around the circle, declaring him the winner of the Duel.

Grindelwald begrudgingly got up, slowly but surely steadying himself and shaking off the traces of the torture curse.

Hadrian didn't celebrate, he just looked at his father with an unreadable expression plastered onto his face. He glanced down onto the Blackthorn wand in his hands, turning it between his fingers, still feeling the temperamental magical residue of the Cruciatus curse flowing through its core.

Hadrian back up to his father, who was regarding him with a similarly unreadable expression. He flipped the wand in his hand, so the grip was facing away from him and held the black wood by its tip.

"You are getting slow, father," Hadrian said while Grindelwald summoned his wand out of the hands of his son. "Unless of course, you have let me win." Hadrian added, he wasn't boasting, sneering or jeering, strong concern was audible in the way he spoke.

The wizard only laughed, stepping closer to his son, clapping him affectionately onto his shoulder. "You are mistaken, my boy. I'm neither getting slower nor did I let you win." he paused, carefully looking over to the Delacours, who had witnessed the entire duel. "You simply beat me." he whispered into his student's ear. "Of course I am not up to scratch any more. I spent half a century in prison, not practising my duelling capabilities nor my fitness or reflexes.

"You would wonder what this can do to your skills." He sighed loudly. "I'm no master duellist any more, I would fall if I had to face Dolohov and Karkaroff at once. Something I was used to be doing when I was younger." He observed his wand before holstering it in his sleeve again.

"And, of course, age sooner or later will take me. Dumbledore will have to face a similar fate." Gellert then began to chuckle. "Not to mention that I am working with a wand that isn't even remotely comparable to my old one."

"It sounds like you're making excuses father." a smile speared on his son's face, "I think you are just annoyed that you've lost to me."

Grindelwald only shook his head, putting a hand on his back and pushing him out of the circle while whispering into his ear "No, I am rather hopeful that, If our plans should fail, you would be able to face Dumbledore and emerge victorious." before standing tall again and speaking loudly, enough so that the others in the room could hear it. "But until then, you will need more training. Now get lost, I have important matters to discuss with our associates."

Hadrian nodded his head, signifying a bow, and simply grabbing Fleur, who had still been standing near them, by her hand and dragging her from the room. Only stopping to greet the two elder Delacours and snatching up the young veela from her mother. Allowing his father and their parents to discuss whichever matters they had to attend.

* * *

Fleur was laying in the cosy comforts of Harry's bed, as she listened to his descriptions of the magical theory book he had recently read.

Her sister had rested her head on the pillow next to her and covered herself, breathing regularly, her eyes closed. Dreaming.

She let her gaze fly round the room. She could see the old stone walls were carefully covered by different shelves and cases filled with books and tomes. The cold stone floor was hidden under a warm, soft carpet, which she believed to be enchanted, as no single piece of cloth or fabric would be able to stay warm in these conditions.

Her eyes flew to the large portrait that was hanging above the fireplace. On it, she could see a group of people.

One she instantly recognized. It was Harry, or rather in this case Hadrian. He stood tall, his gaze unwavering, his eyes scanning the room, as if not entirely trusting the space the portrait was hung.

The man on his right was, also clearly recognizable, his father. The tall German wizard with white-blond hair and elegant robes. His blue eyes looked into her's. While she knew that this was simply just a portrait, unable to truly feel any actual emotions, she felt like the wizard in the picture greatly disliked her. Grindelwald was standing slightly behind his son, his left hand rested on the boy's shoulder, while his right clutched to a strange-looking wand she didn't recognize.

Then there was a woman. She wasn't tall by any means, barely a couple inch taller than Harry. While he was rather tall for his age, he was about five-foot-tall at eleven, it still surprised her how tall he looked next to the woman. But while she might have been not as tall as the man on her right, she still filled her part of the portrait. While not with her body, the confidence and determination on her face made her seem taller than she actually was.

She was rather beautiful, yet age had left imprints on her. Her golden blond hair was mixed with an equal amount, if not slightly dominant number, of white hair. Her eyes where a strong green, yet nowhere near the beautiful green of the boy next to her, they showed experience and strength. The signs of a woman in her higher ages.

She had a playful expression on her face, a smile which caused her nose to slightly wrinkle, yet the smile never reached her eyes. They were cold, like those of someone who had witnessed years upon years of abuse and mistreatment.

Her eyes wandered from the portrait to the large birdcage in the corner of the room. A gigantic black eagle-owl with gentle white dots randomly distributed over its feathering. The lower feathers gradually transitioned from black into grey, with some of the lowest feathers within the feathering even remarkably close to white.

The bird was currently sleeping, just as it had been when they came in, yet she already had known the owl from her brief contact over letters with Harry.

Again, letting her gaze wander from the owl cage, her eyes found a small item in the corner of the room, next to a comfortable armchair in which Harry currently was sitting.

A black violin was resting in its stand, the same colour bow hanging lazily by its side. Next to it was a little table that housed a selection of books, which had the rough title 'violin melodies' written over its back in different variations by different people.

Fleur hadn't known that Harry was able to play an instrument. Not that it surprised her that much, after all, he seemingly was multi-talented.

Harry noticed her gaze had stuck to the violin, a smile spread on his face. "What's wrong?" he asked her, tilting his head slightly, brushing a loose blond strand of hair behind his ear. He had long since lost his glasses. He and his father had gone through the basics of ritual magic a few years back, back when they had prepared the ritual that would allow the old wizard to blood adopt him, which got him hooked on a solution for his eye problem. He was able to, with the help of his father, restore his eyesight to a near-perfect twenty-twenty vision.

His father had only helped him, as he felt that glasses would be a great indifference in a duel and could incapacitate his son greatly, should he ever lose them.

"Nothing, I just didn't know you played _le violon_." Fleur answered, her gaze shifting to Harry. "Could you play something? I want to hear you play." she pleaded, even pouting a little, hoping it would convince him to show her.

Harry chuckled slightly, nodding, before grabbing his violin and a book, through which he promptly began flicking. "I took up learning the violin a few years back. It helped me to concentrate, as well as it made me more precise with my wand-work." he paused, looking up from his book "Not to mention that it is a nice skill to possess and a perfect pastime."

Harry then stood up from his chair and clamped the violin between his chin and shoulder, gently beginning to play a melodic symphony, one Fleur didn't recognize.

* * *

_Northern England, four years ago._

Chocolate-brown eyes wandered over the cold stone walls of the room. Iris Potter, by now four years old, pushed a strand of red hair from her face.

She sniffed, it had been a tough night, but she had managed to read through one of the rather ancient and questionable books her new family had bestowed upon her. She was no prisoner, she could walk freely through the halls of the large and empty manor, yet she could have just as well been.

The only light in this dark place was the hope that her brother would one day come and save her from here. It was a childish dream, one she had made sure to never mention to her 'mother' and 'father', one, she knew, would never come to be.

Her new family had made sure everyone thought she was dead, including those people who remained of her true family. Not to mention that the wizarding world hadn't heard from their 'saviour' for three years, which caused even the most optimistic of souls to fear for the worst of scenarios.

It had taken the followers of the fallen Lord less than a fortnight to find her orphanage, take her and make sure that no one knew she was still alive. Her brother could have shared her fate, her brother could have it much worse than her.

For all she knew, the night these two cloaked death eaters came into the orphanage her brother had been already dead.

She clung to the hope, of one day looking into those green eyes of his again, that one day he would just stand in the entrance hall of the manor, his back to her, she would ask who he was. Harry would spin around and their gazes would meet. Recognition would flare in his eyes and they would launch into each other's arms.

Harry would kill these terrible people, take her away from this place. They would live like they should have lived before their lives changed.

A smile crossed her face. She closed the book and stashed it into the shelve again, she couldn't lose herself in musings. She had work to do, after all, like 'mother' always says '_The manor isn't going to clean itself._'

A loud and thunderous explosion echoed through the hallway her room was in. She could hear three voices, two men and a woman, arguing.

Iris quickly jumped into her bed, covering her body, beside her face, with the blanket. She held her breath, trying to make out who was in the hallway.

Another loud, this time slamming, the sound could be heard. It sounded like a massive object had been launched at a door in the Hallway.

Iris felt the fear rising in her body, adrenalin began kicking in, she cowered under her cover.

The arguing became louder. She could now make out that the two men were arguing with the woman. A similar loud crack, presumably from the door of the room on the right, followed the first.

"That's enough, we have wasted too much time in the other wing already. I will just cast the damned spell, no matter if you like it or you don't. _Homenum Revelio._" a brief silence followed the words. "There is someone in that room over there, maybe it's her." the same voice pointed out to the others.

Steps sounded over the floor and came to a halt before the door of the room she was in. "This is supposed to be her room? It's hardly larger than a -" "Keep your thoughts to yourself before I lose my remaining sanity thanks to your daftness." the harsh voice of the woman cut in.

In contrast to the others, this time the door swung open gently. By now Iris had covered herself up to her eyes, only peering over the edge of her blanket.

The three people entered her room. The woman was the first to spot her. A large smile grew on her pale face, her black eyes looking onto her with complete and utter adoration.

"Hello young lady, -" the woman began "- we were looking for you."

* * *

_**!Important, please read!**_

_**A/N:**__ Here we are, at the end of another chapter._

**_Few things:_**

_**First of all:** If you are free to beta this story, I would like to know, I've never had a beta so I'm slightly unsure at how this works. But I would like someone to go over the chapters before I publish them._

_**Secondly, and most importantly:** **Do you guys believe Harry is too powerful already?** I know I skipped a long part of his childhood which was full of training with Karkaroff, Dolohov and Grindelwald._

_I mean Harry spent the last five years training magic with the probably most dangerous dark lord of all time, as well as the headmaster of a school known for practising dark arts and a former death eater who created many nasty curses and was believed to be, behind Bellatrix, one of the dark lords best duelists. And he only beat him because the man is already like one-hundred and ten years old as well as having spent a large part of his life in prison._

_I don't want Harry to become **too powerful too quickly** and make the story seem boring. Please let me know your opinion on this subject, I would greatly appreciate the input._

_But as always, I appreciate you sticking around till the end of the chapter, let me know if you are interested in seeing another chapter and critique, as well as feedback in general, is always welcome._

_P.S._

_Iris will become more important later on. I don't know how much I will describe from her upbringing, or if I will keep it a secret till later on._


	4. Greetings and Goodbye

_**A/N: **Next chapter done._

_I would like to get some things off my chest before we continue. If you don't care, then please skip to the end of the AN and enjoy the chapter._

_Firstly, thank you, to everyone who decided to give me their feedback concerning the question I posed at the end of the last chapter. I wasn't looking for reassurance or allowance to write how I write, but I wanted to simply ask of you to state if it seemed understandable to those who read this far. There had been a little discussion with one or the other people reviewing.  
I hope you will all understand, that I will not be having a discussion with you about my intentions of writing this story. I simply want to have fun and create a story interesting enough to read through from start to finish._

_Review and critique me, it helps my process of becoming a better writer and allows me to create better content for you to enjoy._

_So that was that :/_

_Secondly, I am not too sure about this chapter. I had to scrap and redo multiple parts of this one, hoping of making it better. It isn't my best work, so please be patient with me, the next one will be better. I would rate this chapter a meh out of ten, and to add to that, there are multiple parts simply filler. But there are also some important parts for the upcoming chapters present._

_But enough of that, you have been warned and I hope you enjoy this chapter._

**How I write dialogue:**

**"Hello" = English**

**"_Hello_" = Foreign language**

**'Hello' = Thought**

**(That's the reason why sometimes people will speak with an accent and sometimes people won't.)**

* * *

_**Chapter Four**_

_Greetings and Goodbye_

_Four years later, present day._

_1988_

Fleur had been listening to Harry gently playing the violin for a few minutes now. A blissful smile was resting on her features while losing herself in the notes. Even Gabrielle had woken, a goofy grin on her face, completely enchanted by the music.

Harry finished up the piece he had been playing, a similarly lost expression on his face, having lost himself in the music like his French companions.

Both Gabrielle and Fleur began clapping as he put the violin back into its stand. "_That was magnificent._" the younger of the two whispered.

"_Thank you, Gabrielle._" Harry answered, striding over to the bed, before sitting down on its edge.

"So you're going to be visiting Beauxbatons?" Harry asked this time his gaze directed at the older of the two witches. "Yes, I 'ad 'oped zey would invite me to join." Fleur answered "_I was so relieved when they sent me that letter._ _Mama wouldn't let me practice before school as your Father did." _

Harry laughed out loud. "_Oh trust me Fleur, you wouldn't want to have the training I had to go through._" he gently shook his head "_The last two years had been some of the most stressful and partially terrifying as well as scaring moments of my life._" The boy paused, his gaze shifting to the violin in the corner of the room. "_The music was a way for me to relax for a while._"

Harry shook his head as if waking up from a trance, his gaze returning to the two girls. "_I wasn't sure If I wanted to attend school after the training I had received. After all, these years wouldn't be of any help for me. I trained with some of the best in their respective subjects._" Harry had pulled out his yew-wand and turned it in his fingers. A thoughtful expression was visible on his features. "_But father said it could help our cause if I went. He said it would help if I had a better connection to our allies. They would be coming from Durmstrang and Hogwarts largely anyways._"

Fleur closely watched the boy. She could see that he wasn't happy with his father's decision, but he also showed impassiveness. Acceptance. "_Where are you going then? Surely Hogwarts. You are an Englishman. It would help you, wouldn't it?_" Fleur asked.

"That is what I would have hoped. But no, Father believes it is easier for us if I didn't go to Hogwarts." Harry muttered. "_Durmstrang will be a better place for me anyways. It will allow me to continue my studies unhindered, as the headmaster will follow my father's instructions. _

"_In Hogwarts, I wouldn't be able to further myself, Dumbledore would realize who I was far too soon. Durmstrang will also allow me to wear my true name without fearing hostilities from other students. They are mostly firm believers in my father's -, in our cause, no little thanks to Karkaroff._" Harry snapped with his wand in hand, pointing it at the large owl-cage.

The black eagle-owl, who had awoken during the musical performance of his owner, flew out of the cage and landed on the headboard of the bed. Deep red eyes inquisitively watching the three humans interacting with great interest.

Harry had named the owl '_Xerxes_', which had turned out to be a terribly unfitting name. While, surely, the owl possessed an immense ego, he was far too thoughtful and intelligent to be named after a warrior king.

With another snap of his wand, the window flew open and allowed the owl to spread its wings. The black owl did just that, leaving the headboard and flying out into the cold air of the Austrian Alps.

"You already know non-verbal magic?" Fleur asked, her mouth agape, eyes focused on the yew-wand. She, unconsciously, started rubbing the palm of her hands where the wand had left its non-visible imprints.

Harry simply nodded to answer her question, a rueful smile appeared on his features. "Not that hard to learn if you got the right instructors. But I'm not that great at it yet. I couldn't use it in a real duel." he paused, before switching to French again "_It isn't even that useful if you are duelling against someone like my father._ _He just knows all the spells already, knows which ones to dodge or which ones he can block._"

"You used a _malédiction impardonnable _against your father." Fleur suddenly said after a short pause in their conversation, "And he used one against you." she continued.

She could remember Harry's face, contorted with the pain of the torture curse his father had laid upon him. She had screamed, not even realizing it herself. She had blamed herself, having distracted Harry for a split second gave Grindelwald the opening he needed to disable his defences and overpower him with the unforgivable.

"I had to." Harry simply stated. "As had he. Hell, if he had actually tried, I would be dead by now. It was a simple practice duel."

He met her gaze, a smile tugged on the corners of his mouth "_And no, I do not blame you for distracting me. I should have paid less attention to you and focused more on the duel. It was my fault._"

Harry got up and walked towards the door, only pausing as his hand had already pressed down the handle. Harry looked back over to the two witches "_I believe your parents are done with my father, we should probably go and meet them by my fathers study._" and with that, he opened the door and held it open for the two girls to leave his room, so he could shut the door behind his back.

While they were on their way to the study, Fleur began to hum the violin piece the wizard had played back in his room, the two eleven-year-olds completely lost in their thoughts while the young Gabrielle happily skipped next to them.

* * *

_A few days later._

"Ah, my boy, come in come in." Grindelwald heard the knocking on the door of his study.

Hadrian and he had spent the last few days going over the elementary principals of advanced runes. Just as he had predicted, the boy excelled at the subject, just as he did with most of his other studies.

Hadrian seemingly had a hand, in terms of non-wand subjects, for Magical creatures as well as Arithmancy and Runes. To the displeasure of his father, he didn't share much of his gift in divination. Nor did Hadrian possess much skill in Herbology or Potions.

He was usable in all of these subjects, still far beyond any other eleven-year-old in any of them. But it was a disappointment to the old man none the less.

But when it came to wand based subjects, the boy already seemed masterful in many of them. Far beyond his peers, yet by far not on the level he had to be by the end of his educational career.

He duelled like a sixth or even seventh year could. He knew spells that could kill a person in far more than one way. He was agile enough to evade a large portion of spells thrown at him, yet still far too predictable.

A flaw, the old man liked to think, which had eased away far more than it once had shown, largely due to the constant duels the boy demanded with different followers of his.

He seemed to enjoy these duels more then he used to. Both Karkaroff and Dolohov taught him much, making him one of the more feared duellists roaming the castle at any point in time. But the tutoring the dark lord bestowed upon his son was the key part in his development.

The boy tried to always give his best, constantly pushing his limits, when he was around. By now, duels with the boy turned out to be far more interesting then they had been to the old man before.

Since he was beaten by the boy a few days back for the first time, he seemed to have worked out a way to press the old wizard for more desperate measures. But what was even more remarkable was the boys seeming natural resistance to the unforgivable curses.

Any, who would try to cast an Imperius curse at his son would be greeted with a nasty surprise. Hadrian was able to shake off the effects with ease, which showed the immense will power the boy possessed. Even the torture curse left the boy, while not unscathed, less affected.

A remarkable piece of willpower the old wizard had to regrettably witness first hand.

Of course, that still left the last curse. The killing curse. The boy had been the first and only survivor of the curse's effects in the history of the magical world.

Lastly, there was the boy's mental magic. He was capable of basic Occlumency and very very basic Legilimency. It had taken extremely long for the boy to begin showing even the simplest of mental defences as if something had been hindering him from developing them to start with.

Grindelwald had his suspicions, yet there was no actual evidence to his theories. He still wasn't sure about the boy's trapped mind.

Any, who dared to enter would find themselves pulled into the centre to be trapped there for the remainder of their existence.

It was like Hadrian was possessed, yet he was able to use his body mind and soul like any other. It was like there was some form of a parasite in his head. Nothing natural, nothing that came on its own. It had been planted there.

It was very dark magic, magic even he hadn't dared to tamper with. Gellert had always been careful with mind magic, not entirely comfortable with the idea of manipulating his own soul.

But he remembered having once read something about soul anchors, that would allow the person who created them to force his soul to remain after his or her death. They could be planted in any object the caster desired to, yet Gellert didn't know if the was possible for the anchor to be bound to a living human being.  
It seemed impractical, if the boy would have died, the anchor would have been gone, leaving the caster with a useless link.

This led him to believe, that whatever happened to cause the anchor to be where it was, entirely happened by accident.

He had researched this topic over the last seven years since he had discovered the boy's corrupted mind. He hadn't found many ways of removing said _Horcrux _from the boy without killing him.

The soul fragment of whoever caused this infection would have to either leave on its own or be removed by its creator. This put him in a tight spot. While having no indications who would have created this anchor, yet he had a very good idea, the person would like to be uncooperative in the very least.

But should the original owner of the soul fragment not know that the boy possessed the fragment, this would give him and his son a perfect opening.

The boy would have to duel the witch or wizard and be hit with the killing curse once again. This could cause the fragment in the boy's soul to be destroyed and ultimately leave the boy to survive.

This plan had two large problems though.

Firstly, he wasn't sure of this as much as he wished to. There was a good chance that both souls would be destroyed, ending in the death of the boy as well as the removal of the fragment.

Secondly, if his suspicion was correct, then the original owner was no less then Tom Riddle himself. This would cause a rather unpredictable encounter, leaving no leeway in terms of ideal outcomes. Yet, he could be completely off course and it might be something entirely different. He had, sadly, not been able to find much else, leaving this to be his only real idea. He would spend the next few years of his life continuing, finishing and perfecting the boys training.

He, just like his son, didn't like the idea of him leaving for Durmstrang. It greatly hindered his progress in tutoring his student. While Karkaroff had ensured the old wizard that the boy would get as much time as he required preparing and studying, he was not sure if it would be enough.

He would, once each weekend, stop by in Durmstrang and privately tutor the boy over the day. This, while maybe not ideal, was the best idea the headmaster and he could come up with. It would allow Hadrian to spend the lessons, as well as his spare time with the soon to be followers of him. He could create social and emotional bonds in the school. _Friends_.

If receptive enough, they could make up his own inner circle when he would take over. If not, they could make difficult enemies or even potential rivals. Yet, it was a risk the wizard would have to put his son up to.

Karkaroff had brought up the idea of privately tutoring some of the other students together with his son, as long as he would find them agreeable. They wouldn't reach the level of magical prowess the boy possessed, yet they would possibly become feared duellists that loyally followed the cause.

Grindelwald had agreed to let the idea rest for a while and that he would discuss it with his son as soon as possible. This was partially the reason Hadrian was sitting before him now.

Hadrian looked at his father, expectantly. It was rare that his father called him into his study outside of their scheduled tutoring lessons. Even then, they didn't spend much time here, usually leaving for the castles library or the duelling circle in the grand hall.

"Hadrian, -" his father begun "- you have achieved much during your tutelage under me, as much as under Karkaroff and Antonin."

Grindelwald pulled open a drawer in his desk, pulling out a sleek, bound leather book which had small runes engraved on its cover and spine. The runes were perfectly drawn, dripping with the magic they had absorbed from the sounding area.

"This book is one of a kind," Grindelwald spoke, intoning every word carefully. "Possessing this book puts the one who does into a unique position. It is enchanted with some of the runes used in powerful protection spells and other kinds of artefacts. But most importantly, it possesses the magical properties of an object under the Fidelius Charms." Gellert opened the book and wrote something in it.

A gentle rush of magic could be felt as he finished writing. He closed the book and looked up at his son. "Who was your biological mother?" the old wizard asked, a gentle smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

Hadrian thought, he remembered her clearly yet not at all. She was there, he could feel her presence in his mind, but she was a blur. He couldn't make out her appearance, her voice or her name.

"I -" he stuttered, slightly overwhelmed, confused at the sudden loss of memory. "I don't remember."

Grindelwald only nodded, "That is to be expected, my boy." opening the book again and scratching the lines away he had written.

"Now think again, who was your biological mother?" Grindelwald asked blue eyes focused on the boy's features.

Hadrian suddenly remembered everything about her again. Auburn Red hair, fierce green eyes and very beautiful. Strict yet loving, proud yet supportive and friendly yet so fierce if need be. _Lily Potter._

He choked at the thought of her. A single tear ran down his cheek at the memory of his birth parents.

"Lily Potter" he uttered, barely audible. Looking up from the floor, where his gaze had shifted to, meeting the ice blue eyes of his father. "Lily Potter," he said again, this time more confident.

He stared down onto the book in the old wizard's hands. "The book made me forget what you wrote into it." Hadrian realized, trying to read the runes on the spine of the cover.

His father nodded, closing the book, letting his hand glid over the cover before looking up at his son.

"This book will allow you to hide secrets away from others in a far more powerful way then you could realize. You and I will be the only ones not affected by the influence of the book, as you possess it and I created it." he paused, handing the book over the table to his son. "This is your second most valuable possession, protect it, keep it with you and do NOT lose it!" intoning every word of the last part. "Only your wand is more important than this book. No one who doesn't carry my doesn't carry our, blood or magic will be able to write in it or read from it."

Grindelwald leaned back in his chair, reading the boys features as he processed this information. "Regard this as a birthday or Christmas present if you wish, you know I don't care for these sorts of celebrations."

It was true, the old man wasn't interested in celebrations of the simpler kinds, like birthdays. Hadrian had only ever gotten four presents in his life by the old man.  
His wand, his owl, the violin and now the book. While the violin was more or less a present that came from Queenie Goldstein, it still was bought with the old man's money.

The education and home he received were no presents. For both, he had to work too hard for it to be truly considered a present.

"This wasn't all we will be discussing today," Grindelwald spoke thoughtfully, the mandatory letter of acceptance from two schools was laying before the old wizard.

Both Durmstrang and Hogwarts had sent letters, as Hadrian had some or the other connection with both of the schools.

He was a wizard born and partially raised in England, his first sprouts of accidental magic had been occurring on British soil.

He also was a wizard raised in Germany and Austria as well as France. The first two indicating schooling in Durmstrang. Beauxbatons had never been on the table. He was too multicultural for that. "I shall visit you in Durmstrang each weekend for a single day, as long as my schedule allows me to. This will be to further your knowledge in the advanced subjects of magic, as well as training for duelling and other helpful skills you are yet to acquire." Grindelwald paused, his son nodded, signalling that he was listening. "The headmaster had an interesting idea I would like to discuss with you."

Gellert stood up and walked to the window, looking out onto the widespread mountains of the Austrian Alps. "He had the idea, that, if sufficiently potentially strong students arrived with you, I would extend these private tutoring sessions by two or three other students, who would learn from me in similar fashion you did, thus furthering their knowledge and skill, allowing them to possibly take higher ranking positions in out noble cause when they finish their education.

"But there are some requirements these students have to meet before they are allowed to participate," Grindelwald added, looking over his shoulder to find the boy staring at him expectantly. "They will only join if you believe they have the potential to be helpful enough and you accept them as allies, or _friends _if that is how you want to call them."

"I don't see anything wrong with these limitations and I would be willing to accept them into our training if it doesn't hinder me too much," Hadrian answered the question behind his father telling him about these plans.

"So be it. I won't be able to join you for your tutoring for the first two weeks. Karkaroff will take my place and help you select a few students from the pile who he will believe to be fitting enough." Grindelwald sighed and sat down again.

"At last, there are two more things we have to discuss." he took a sip of a steaming tea mug that had been resting on his desk. It was portably the most British thing Hadrian had ever seen his father do.

"Firstly, we have to discuss a topic I am not keen on discussing with you at this point in time, yet I don't see any way around it, as it could immensely harm our relationship with the Delacours if not addressed early enough." he build in another pause, letting the gravity of the words sink in.

"I know you are rather fond of their eldest daughter, _Fleur_," Gellert spoke slowly as if testing the waters or making sure that the ice was thick enough to walk on while wandering on a frozen lake. "I don't want to pry, yet it seems like she is capable of pulling your attention rather easily. If I may remind you of our duel a few days ago which ended in a rather… _nasty_ way."

"I don't know what you are talking about father," Hadrian spoke, a slightly irritated look in his eyes. "I don't see what this has to do with anything regarding our cause. She is a friend, probably my only friend I feel like I can talk to -"

"And that is the problem, my boy." Grindelwald interrupted him. "You do realize she is a veela, correct? If she spends too much time with you, she will slowly, but surely bond her magic to yours. This is completely natural for Veela, as they seek out a mate for them feel comfortable enough around."

"You make her sound like an animal who can't control herself." Hadrian cut in in an accusative tone, instantly regretting his decision as he was met with the firm glare of his father's cold eyes.

"I am simply warning you, as it is more than possible for her to get attached to you, in which case she would lose me and her parents a great deal of political leeway." Grindelwald reprimanded his son in a warning tone of voice. "She won't be the reason why this cause fails. I will personally make sure of that." the wizard spoke, leaving the meaning behind his words open for interpretation.

"But enough of that, we have more pressing matters to attend, do you remember a few years back when I told you about your strange condition in your mind?" Grindelwald spoke, completely dismissing the other topic and changing to a new one.

* * *

Other then its British counterpart, Durmstrang wasn't reachable by train. The students would have to board a large wooden ship that would take the pupils, new and old, on the journey up north to the school, hidden way up in Scandinavia.

Hadrian stood near the boarding plank, watching on, down onto the students. Some greeting their friends, some saying goodbye to their parents and family.

Just like he had expected the morning before, the weather was harsh. It was very cold and windy. The old Galleon was gently rocking in the waves, the captain had made the ship ready with a single flick of his wand.

Hadrian had luckily prepared for the weather, wearing a heavy black leather coat with a soft fur collar. A black suit vest and shirt as well as suit pants and Italian black leather boots.

He had worn rarely something else similar to this, not taking the leather coat into account or the rather heavy boots. His father had made sure he would be carrying himself like the descendant of Grindelwald, looks and style were part of that just as much as magic and skill.

A large suitcase was standing next to him. It was filled with heaps of books and other personal belongings. His wand safely holstered in his sheath, bound to his underarm, allowing him to be ready at all times. His owl was sitting on the railing of to his left.

The large black eagle-owl was giving everyone the side-eye, judging silently.

Hadrian let his gaze wander a bit, landing on two other eleven-year-old boys that pulled his interest.

Just like him, they had already boarded the ship and were looking over the railing of the Galleon down onto the groups of students slowly getting ready to board.

Both were rather tall for their age, the boy on the left only two inches smaller, while the other was about the same height as him. They were talking very quickly and silently in Bulgarian, a language Hadrian had learned a few years ago thankfully.

His father had back then already known that he would one day join Durmstrang over Hogwarts. It was his plan after all.

"_Do you think that they will teach us dark magic here?_" the boy on the left asked. "_Well it is part of the charm of this place isn't it._" the other answered, a strong sarcastic note could be heard in his tone.

Hadrian frowned. It sounded like they didn't support the school's ideals and so, to a certain extent, the ideals of '_the noble cause_' and his father. An error Hadrian would have to rectify immediately.

He slowly approached the two boys, they hadn't noticed him as of yet, silently he crept up next to them before clearing his throat to gain their attention. Both of them jumped a little, not having expected to be disturbed, looking at him warily.

"_Your first year here too?_" Hadrian asked them in fluent Bulgarian, yet still, a bit accentuated. The two shared a look, before nodding in his direction. "_I hope you won't mind me asking your names, won't you?_" a charismatic smile spread on his face, lulling them into a sense of security.

"_Stanislav Kostov._" the smaller of the two answered, a sceptic look on his face. He had been the one to ask the other before.

"_Viktor Krum._" the other answered, less sceptical, but far more distanced. Hadrian looked the latter up and down. Viktor Krum was thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows.

He looked older then one would expect him to be. The eyes of the boy, dark, black almost, showed indifference to the world around him.  
He didn't want to be here.

"_Viktor Krum, you said?_" Hadrian asked the boy. "_The one who's grandfather served Grindelwald in the last war? The one who tried to sneak an attack against one of the greatest wizards of the last century and got killed in the attempt?_"

Krum looked slightly unsure at what to answer. He only nodded slightly, his eyes now glowing in slight wary at the boy.

"_I do wonder, do you share your ideologies with your grandfather? Or are you welcoming of the coming wizarding revolution's ideals?_" Hadrian continued his questioning, one eyebrow raised in scepticism. "_Are you two going to betray those who will liberate you from the curse that is our governments fear of confrontation with the Muggles?_" this time, an accusatory tone rested in the young wizard's voice.

Krum stepped forward, a dark touch graced his features, trying to intimidate Hadrian into submission. Hadrian didn't waver, facing off against one of the most feared duellists in history did wonder for one's self-control and confidence.

"_I hope you realize what you are saying is -_" Krum started talking before Hadrian raised his hands in mock surrender.

"_Before this gets out of hand, I will say two things._" Hadrian interrupted. "_First things first, I don't want conflict, yet you will not be able to stay neutral in the upcoming times. You will need to choose your side, don't get caught on the wrong one._" "_And how would you know which side will win and which will lose. Are you such a fanatic that you think you know what is going on? They are using you as they did the last time with others._" Krum interrupted him this time, a dismissive expression mirrored the nearly hostile glare in his eyes.

"_Secondly -_" Hadrian continued, uninterested in what the boy just said. "_My name is Hadrian, Hadrian Grindelwald, the son of the Revolutionary._"

Krum took a startled step back, while Stanislav suddenly became immensely interested in the conversation. "_You are lying!_" Krum uttered, a shocked expression had replaced the former. "_That Monster doesn't have any children!_"

Hadrian only chuckled slightly, it was an interesting reaction, not one he expected. He would have bid good money on the fact that the boy would have simply punched him. "_You will find his blood matches mine as your fathers matches yours._" Hadrian simply answered.

"_Listen, I will make you an offer_," Hadrian stated matter of factually. "_If you accept, my father and I will forgive your family the treachery of your grandfather and you will all vow to join us and our noble cause. It is your choice._"

Hadrian stood silent a few seconds, eyeing the boy carefully one last time, before turning around and walking back to his trunk and owl.

"_What happens if I reject your offer?_" Krum shouted at his back, a challenging undertone crept into his question. Hadrian stopped, a smile appearing on his face. He slowly turned around to the two Bulgarians again. "If you dismiss this opportunity and lose yourself and your family the option of redemption, thus going against us and our principals and will be viewed as an enemy of the cause," Hadrian stated coldly.

He took a step towards the two again and said in a low tone "That goes without saying, that these will be some troublesome upcoming years for you and anyone who shares this… opinion of yours." pausing and giving the other boy a side glance before turning back to Krum again. "Of course, only if you stand against us and dismiss this offer."

With that Hadrian turned away again, while leaving yelling over his shoulder "Don't take too much time to think. I am patient, but not overly.", leaving the boy to his thoughts.

'Krum hopefully will take the time thinking about my offer' Hadrian thought, 'He could be quite the asset if tutored by father. The other boy, _Stanislav_, seemed open enough to our cause.'

So, Hadrian grabbed his belongings and went under deck, finding a berth to lay down and read until they would arrive in school. He would have time to make social interactions later.

* * *

"_And now, for the last announcement of the evening._" Igor Karkaroff bellowed out into the filled hall. "_This will be the first of the next seven years, in which we are honoured by the presence off one very gifted young wizard. Hadrian Grindelwald._"

Silence followed, everyone was shocked. No one knew of a son that Grindelwald supposedly had. Searching eyes roamed the hall. Different intentions on every mind. Some wished for revenge for a fallen family member, some wanted to put themselves in good terms with the German wizard and some wanted to see who they would have to avoid to be still believed as neutral.

"_You will be careful when interacting with him. Show him respect. And if one of you decide to duel with him, it will not be my problem when your parents arrive to inspect your splattered remains._" Karkaroff continued, his eyes sweeping the hall, looking into the eyes of every student at once. "_While he is here, there will be certain classes taught at weekends, by a very special teacher for him and selected other students. Prove your worth in the upcoming weeks, show your potential. And maybe, just maybe, you will be honoured enough to be taking part in these lessons._" Karkaroff finished his speech and the doors of the hall opened, allowing students to leave the hall.

Antonin Dolohov stood a few feet behind the headmaster, scanning the hall with a watchful glare.

He would be teaching dark arts at Durmstrang for the foreseeable future. Partly it was to actually teach, partly it was to keep an eye on the boy and partly it was to scope out any new young students that could potentially help Grindelwald and his cause. For this, he would be having certain students of the higher years more in his focus than younger ones.

Karkaroff had used the hands-on approach, telling the students what exactly was happening at school, rather than hiding the truth behind white lies and deceptions. It could be beneficial, even if it caused the world to know that he was sympathetic towards the ideals of the German master duellist.

The next few years would be challenging, as they could prove to be imperative towards the upcoming conflict. They would have to lull the students into a sense of security at their school, tell them that no matter their ideals, they would be welcomed here. No matter the truth behind those words. Then they would have to seduce them to the cause. It would be a painstakingly long process, with many hurdles to overcome along the road.

Yet the pay-off would be grand.

Grindelwald was now focusing on the other school, Beauxbatons. With the help of their French allies, some of the younger students could be persuaded to overthink their ideals. The older ones, much like in Durmstrang, would have to make their own decision. No matter the consequences.

They planned to slowly, but surely, prepare to reveal themselves over the next half of the decade. By the time Hadrian would turn seventeen, they would finally reveal themselves as the heads of the Hydra. Hadrian then would be able to step in at any time, politically or militarily.

But until then, there was still much for the boy to learn. To duel wasn't everything. There would be a situation where he would have to rely on his own instincts, his own knowledge. His resourcefulness and his cunning would be helpful, yet his experience was the lacking factor.

Sooner or later, he would be faced with the right challenges. In those, he would have to step up and prove his capabilities in leading, improvising and adapting.

This time was not now, now he would learn and expand his knowledge. Train to become strong enough, crafty enough and fast enough, to take on his challenges.

* * *

_Northern England, Four years ago._

_1984_

"Hello young lady, -" the woman began "- we were looking for you."

She was a tall woman of white skin; and long, thick, shiny dark hair. Her face had a strong jaw, thin lips, and heavily-lidded eyes with long eyelashes. She had one hand on her hip, while the other twirled a wand in her hand.

She had insane eyes, ones you could easily get lost in, ones that if you looked at for too long would cause you nights of sleepless unrest and horrific nightmares.

The woman gently took a step forward, lowering her wand, and approaching her as a caring mother would do to a lost child. Carefully, she rested a hand on Irises back and sat down next to her on the bed.

Iris was scared. She didn't know these people, yet they seemed to be here for her. Maybe they were here to kill her, send on the orders of the Dark Lord. She gently began to sob, her eyes like wells, making way for the tears to roll down her face. She didn't want to die.

"Shush -" the woman whispered into her ear, pulling her close and gently rubbing her back like her mother had done when she had cried as a toddler. "- everything is going to be okay, little lady," she whispered soothingly into her ear. "Mummy's here, I will protect you."

Iris gently rocked against the woman, feeling the vibration going through her chest as she spoke. The circles she drew on her back with her finger, whispering into her ear.

The two men still stood near the entrance of the room, silently watching the scene unfold before them.

The one on the left, a tall, thickset man with very dark hair, seemed much more at peace than the other. Both looked rather similar, the one on the right a bit thinner and far more fidgety. One would guess they where brothers.

"Bella, we have to leave soon our -" the one on the right started, but was quickly interrupted by the woman herself. "Be silent you worm, we will leave when I am done here!" _Bella_ screamed at the man, who quickly fell silent again.

This outburst scared Iris, causing her to begin crying again.

As quickly as _Bella_ turned into a seething Hippogriff, she turned into a caring mother again. "Do you want to get out of here?" the woman asked Iris gently, still softly stroking the girl back.  
"Well, then come with us, we will bring you away from this place and make sure you will be taken care of." with that, the woman got up and pulled the girl with her.

Iris thought about resisting, thought about fighting the woman, trying to get away. But what use was there.

They were wizards, she would have died in the blink of an eye.

So she went with them. She left the house she had to spend countless days, weeks, months and even years in. Went with those that promised her a better life, yet did not prove the weight of their words.

As they walked through the entry hall, she saw two maimed and mutilated people, nearly undistinguishable due to their injuries and wounds. Corpses, nothing more. Blood spilt onto the floor.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" the woman asked her, a dreamy look on her face. A maniacal cackle escaped her lungs, her eyes glinting in pure unhindered joy and malice.

Suddenly, Iris was very happy that she decided to not stand against the woman as she offered her her companionship.

The four of them stepped onto the front lawn, looking around one last time before apparating away, Iris being pulled away by the woman.

* * *

_Durmstrang, Four years later, present day._

_1988_

Antonin Dolohov was standing before his class of first years, his eyes focused on the blond-haired boy sitting relatively far in the back of the class.

The class was in a miserable shape. Most of the girls within the class weren't able to perform the easiest of curses. The boys had a slight edge, yet weren't looking much better.

There was a group of students that quickly crystallized itself from the rest of the class. Namely Krum and Kostov, as well as two other boys who he was yet to learn the names of. Of course, Hadrian would have counted to that group, but the 'professor' believed him not to be a student of this school, or at least not of this class.

He had already mastered most incantations a sixth-year student in Durmstrang should manage, so these exercises were little more than late practice for him.

Yet he had proven himself, showing how to cast the cruses correctly before the class. He did this to prove his dominance over his peers and to prove that he was far more skilled then any of them would or even could be.

He didn't offer his help to students who needed it, he even refused to help those who asked it of him. He rather focused on his own studies, reading a tome with an unreadable cover, entirely black with some pages burned or torn out.

He decided not to bother the boy for now, while he knew he couldn't show open favouritism towards Hadrian, he also knew the punishment his father would lay upon him if he decided to disturb the boy's studies.

* * *

_Southern France._

Gellert Grindelwald had been searching all over France for Nicholas Flamel over the past couple weeks. His reputation as famed alchemist and discoverer of the Philosophers Stone was what had gained the old wizard's interest.

As of yet, he had little success in tracking down the man, but he remained optimistic. He had first searched Paris, a small stone house, little more special than any other aside from its time of construction, supposedly had housed the alchemist. While he had found few traces of a former inhabitant, possibly of magical nature, he hadn't found any further hints. The house was empty, any who had lived here before, left many many months ago, carefully having cleaned up behind them.

After that, he had searched through the known magical communities all over France. It had been tedious and unrewarding work. He had to remain in the shadows, not showing himself to any. His appearance alone would cause mass panic and would gather unwanted attention.

He had kept an eye on the papers across Europe since he had fled from Nurmengard. They had no clue of where he was or what he was doing, some even speculating his retirement or even death.

It had been rather laughable, but it assured him that the people had little more then whispers when it came to information about him and his plans.

There had been an outcry across the continent, as Hadrian didn't arrive on the first of September in Hogwarts this year. There had been few out there who had hoped that Harry Potter was still alive, still fighting and training. Preparing himself for the invariable rise of the Dark Lord. While leaving open who they were talking about.

Grindelwald's plans where perfectly proceeding on multiple fronts, yet when it came to his personal plans, none of them seemed to be working as well as he had intended.

He had little information on the Deathly Hallows, his search for the Philosophers Stone had been fruitless and other options where only to be chosen once he would grow desperate.

Which he was, as of yet, not. He still had many years and his search would continue, but once he would have to reveal himself, he would have little time for his search. To add to that, he wasn't able to hand the task to one of his followers, as many of them had the annoying trait of being shameless opportunists.

Should they miraculously succeed at the near-impossible quest of searching, acquiring and gathering the three Hollows, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't simply turn against him and use them to build their own legacy.

Hadrian possibly wouldn't, he was a far too loyal and at times annoyingly generous soul. His trust was hard-earned, but he would do what he believed was right. Hadrian still was only eleven-years-old and while that meant little to offset him from any of his followers in his duelling capabilities, he still lacked the experience of any seasoned wizard or sorcerer.

No, he wasn't able to pass on his quest in search for longer life. For that, he had chosen the wrong side in the first war.

Grindelwald had been using an excessive amount of glamour charms and transfigurations to hide his true identity while he was on the hunt. It, of course, was only a very temporary and makeshift way to go about things, yet it allowed him to remain somewhat hidden.

He would soon leave for the Delacour manor, from where he then would use a Portkey to Nurmengard and prepare for his first meeting with Hadrian and the other students he and Karkaroff selected for possible tutoring.

He had heard very little from Karkaroff and Dolohov about Hadrian. He seemed to perform well enough in school to remain top of the class but did little more than study the entire day.

He wouldn't have needed to do so. The only reason Grindelwald even send the boy to Durmstrang was the fact that he was supposed to bond with some of the students there, who would later turn into trusted allies and supporters.

Of course, it had only been little over one and a half weeks, but the boy had supposedly only made little progress so far.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had overlooked the sorting ceremony, not really paying attention to what was happening.

The old man was lost in his own thoughts. He had remembered the day he had entered Privet Drive number four, seeing Harry's aunt and uncle, their son, and most importantly Harry himself lying dead on the floor.

The wards around the house had collapsed, people had entered the house and killed the four inhabitants. He didn't know who but he knew that it had to be someone powerful enough to cause the blood wards to fail. They hadn't fully developed at that point, but they would have kept him safe against most enemies.

In his mourning, he hadn't managed to carefully examine the boy's corpse before having to give it up to the ministry.

His only hope had rested with Iris, but that had been shattered quickly. As he arrived near the orphanage, the house had been burned down and the body of the girl had been missing.

There was hope for the young girl to still be alive, but it was rather slim. The chances stood higher than she had been simply reduced to ash.

He had lost both of the siblings, no matter if dead or not. He would have to win them back if he could. They were imperative for his plans and the future of the wizarding world.

Harry might be dead, yet Iris still posed a possible turn of events. She could be the downfall of Tom if trained properly. The death of Harry Potter simply had caused his plans to be restructured. Fragile, yes, but still standing.

He and the rest of the staff would have to prepare the students for the upcoming conflict. It was undeniable, Tom wasn't dead. And with Gellert roaming around, where ever he was, there would soon be a third party joining this conflict and Dumbledore wasn't sure how dangerous they would be.

Tom might have been the most skilled duellist of them, but Gellert was, by far, the more dangerous of the two.

The murmurs in the shadows of an old man slowly but surely building a network of allies and followers all across Europe made the headmaster feel uneasy.

Nurmengard had fallen and was now resting under the Fidelius, tucked away somewhere he couldn't quite remember.

The signs of Grindelwald's rise stood before, but this time, he was far more dangerous, having learned from his errors of the past and having spent half of the past century to plan another attempt.

Another generation of followers and allies would soon rise from all across Europe, even Hogwarts could be affected, and declare themselves for Grindelwald. The world stood at the edge of an international wizarding war, the size none had ever seen before.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ _Thank you for taking the time to read, as usual please consider reviewing, helps me to improve._


	5. A Snake and a Cup

_**A/N:**_ Hey guys, guess who hasn't been swallowed by the void?

Yeah. Sorry for keeping you waiting that long, yet I had little time to sit down and write for a while. It usually takes around six hours to write one simple chapter. I had a lot of exams cramping up my time and even now between the years, I have some shit to do, besides of course the dinner with family on Christmas eve and the celebratory change of year. The worst part is, a good chunk of this was already done a while ago, I just never finished it. And because of the time difference between some of the parts within this chapter, you will find that the writing style changes a few times.

I can't guarantee any release date for a future chapter, nor can I guarantee that I haven't abandoned this story in a few months. This is due to the fact that I will finish my A-levels / high school in a few months time. Of course time I can't invest in writing for six hours straight.

I hope you enjoy reading this chapter and I hope I will get around to write a few more before I have to put down my pen for the sake of my education.

* * *

_**Harry Chapter Five**_

_A Snake and a Cup_

_Three years later._

_September 1, 1991_

Iris stood on the train platform nine-and-three-quarters. Her Auburn hair turned into black curls that fell down her shoulders and right past her shoulder blades.

Her chocolate brown eyes roamed the busy platform, looking for someone or something, but not sure what it was.

She had spent the last seven years under the tutelage of three of the dark lords most loyal followers.

Bellatrix Lestrange, her _mother _and guidance over the good part of the last decade. She had worked under the direct orders of the dark lord, preparing young Iris for the upcoming task. She would have to gain the old headmaster's trust, no matter what it took, to lull the man into a false sense of security.

She would, over the first two or three years of her education, slowly open up to the old man. Telling him tales of her terrible mother who constantly tortured her, not that that was far of the truth, and how abused she was getting. The headmaster would probably try to use her as an informant for his cause, trying to get her to spy on her parents to gain information on the dark lords' state.

She would play the afraid and defiant little girl who seeks help from the _greatest wizard of all time. _He would play the bright mentor for her, who would help her if she could supply him with the right information.

Once everything was ready, she would assassinate the old man. Cut off the head of the snake that was the so-called light side, run them into chaos, while her '_father_' would be resurrected to his true body and take control of the wizarding community in Great Britain.

She hated calling the man father. He wasn't her father, in no sense of the word, yet if she didn't, her _mother_ would decide to torture her. It was her sick idea of a joke. One that, to her surprise, found no aversion with the spirit of her 'dark lord'.

Bellatrix had a disgusting crush on the man, which was the reason for her strange fantasy of Iris being the child of her and _he-who-shall-not-be-named_. Iris had been resistant to the idea, which caused the woman to use the torture curse in such an excessive amount that it almost killed her.

She had no childhood in the very sense of the word. As she had turned six, Bella had provided her with her very own wand and began teaching her the elementary steeps of duelling. A subject she, by now, was rather familiar with. Bella had been a very strict teacher, broken bones and scars were the proof. Simple mistakes were chided by harsh methods, most of the time-intense sessions with the torture curse or other nasty curses people carrying _fathers_ mark had invented.

Lucius and _Cissy_ Malfoy had been her two other tutors, teaching her many of those subjects needed to obtain a degree at Hogwarts together with their son. Charms, Transfiguration and Potions only being a few of them.

Draco and she had become very close friends over the past seven years, both having a noticeable influence on the other's upbringing.

Draco having taught her to carry herself like the witch she was, like a pureblood he had always said. He would always take her to fly around the Malfoy estate when they currently weren't training or learning.  
She always enjoyed being around him, as he gave her an interesting alternative to the constant work she had faced since she could walk.

But even he couldn't compensate for the years of abuse she suffered first at the hand of the couple that first took her in and then at the hands of the Lestrange family. She had slowly, but surely, turned more and more dull to the simpler things in life.

Beauty didn't excite her, nor did animals or flowers or other things girls her age would usually find exciting.  
She enjoyed causing _pain_.

While only in certain circumstances, she loved the rush she felt every time a curse connected with her opponent. The sweet screams that echoed from their lungs once the pain set in. The fear in the eyes of those she had tortured on the orders of her mother.

Those were the things that gave her simple satisfaction.

She was damaged from the years of mental abuse she suffered, partly from the Occlumency training at the hands of her mother's brother-in-law.

Draco allowed her an escape from this. As did Theo Nott and Pansy Parkinson. They allowed her to be someone else for a while. The rush of the air when she rode a broom excited her. The adrenalin that pumped through her veins when she flew inches above the ground at high speeds.

Always when she spent time with the three, she somewhere deep down hoped that she still could have a somewhat normal childhood at some point.

These thoughts and dreams were always very short-lived, as the training, she went through forced her to kill and torture innocent people. Not that she minded the fact that her training contained these aspects of 'growing up' as her mother called them. It was more the ramifications of her actions that disturbed her.

Still, for whatever reason that maybe, she seemed to also have a positive influence on the blond wizard. While still being a snotty git at times, he seemed much friendlier towards others. The Malfoys had always said Iris was an exceptionally balanced girl as if she was taking in the insanity around her and causing the world to relax a little.

The horn of the Hogwarts Express pulled the eleven-year-old girl out of her musings. She pulled the heavy luggage and a birdcage containing a white-feathered snow owl onto to train and set off in search of a compartment containing some of her friends.

* * *

_A few weeks prior._

Hadrian's wand roamed the dark grand hall of Nurmengard Castle in search for his target. His hand clutched tight around the yew wood, eyes squinting prepared for anything.

A slight rustling sound could be heard a few feet to his right. Directly dropping onto the floor, yanking his wand into the direction of the sound and firing of a Bonebraker curse.

The light of the spell illuminated the hall for a short second, allowing Hadrian to see his target. He quickly raised his shield, causing an incoming red bolt to slam into his magical defences, another, this time yellow, bolt followed the first. Dropping the shield again, Hadrian rolled over the floor, avoiding the spell from hitting him.

"_Oblito Cataegis_"

Hadrian whispered an incantation he had been working on the past year. From the tip of his yew wand, a gentle mist started pouring, before suddenly expanding rapidly and rushing across the room in immense speed, spreading across the floor similar to snow and emitting an extremely bright light. It was a rather useful spell, especially when fighting in similar environments.

The light exposed the location of the three occupants of the room.

In one corner, the tall Bulgarian wizard Victor Krum held an arm before his eyes, covering them from the bright floor.

The sound next to him had been Stanislav Kostov, who had before slightly avoided the Bonebraker and had retaliated with some of Dolohov's curses. He also was slightly stunned by the light, unable to continue fighting.

The last of the three was a girl, who had been the least impressive of the three acolytes and only managed to somewhat impress with her vast knowledge of potions and Herbology. She had short brown hair and cold grey eyes that were usually hidden behind a pair of old, round glasses. She currently was cowering on the floor, already having dropped her wand in favour of shielding her eyes.

"Do you alvays have to use some spell ve can't counter?" Krum asked through gritted teeth. Natasha only moaned in agreement, still covering her eyes with her arms. "It's just a simple modification of Lumos Solem, only Arithmancy and Runes. Nothing you can't handle." Hadrian said, shrugging with his shoulders before disarming the other two, who hadn't kept their guard up.

The three Durmstrang students had been under special tutelage by a few of Grindelwald's enforcers. Most noticeable was the influence of both Dolohov and Karkaroff, who had taught the three more than one nasty curse.

Of course, these special tutoring sessions left a rather permanent mark on anyone who decided to take part in them, evident by the scar riddled torsos of the lot.

Victor Krum, who had been rather standoffish at first in regards to both Hadrian and Grindelwald, had slowly but surely opened up to the two and was, not just until recently, nearly regarded as something close to a brother by Hadrian.  
Stanislav had still great potential, yet he had a problem when it came to his bend the knee nature of companionship. Hadrian didn't need someone who lacked the backbone to stand up for himself or didn't dare to voice his own opinion to him, remaining little more than a bootlicker to Hadrian and trying to follow his every whim. And while it may had some positive aspects attached to it, Hadrian simply found it annoying over time.

Natasha had been more than just a little revelation to both him and his father. Her knowledge of non-wand based subjects could, while only partly, still rival those of Hadrian himself. While still remaining on top with his creatures, she trumped him, as mentioned before, in Potions as well as Herbology. It was the wand based subjects that caused her headaches. Simple spells anyone her age should be able to cast were no catastrophic problem, casting most with only some issues, yet the more intricate and elegant duelling stances and spells required by the tutors simply eluded her.

It was that, and her strong moral compass and compassion that lead Harridan's father to start doubting the wisdom of allowing her to join the most elite ranks of his acolytes.

The last three years had done little to hide the fact that Gellert was ageing. His posture ever so slowly and ever so slightly was starting to show true signs of exhaustion, grey streaks growing into his blond hair, yet the wild blue eyes still full of magic and energy.

He had let himself go since the beginning of Hadrian's education. Still, the sleek features and thin body frame remained, yet his muscles and overall appearance showed in parts hints to his long prison stay and in parts a nudge into a more relaxed and isolated lifestyle.

Many people wanted to talk to him, many tried to get his attention, prominent political figures and young aspiring wizards alike. Yet only a few people ever had the enjoyment of seeing him in person nowadays. Still attending rallies, standing on stage and calling out to the people who listened, growing by the dozens, the hundreds, each day. His ideology spreading over the magical world like a virus, infecting more and more people, infesting itself in their mind and senses allowing them to see the world through his very own eyes. Seeing the people in power for what they really were, what they really wanted and what they were hiding. Traditionalists still fought against the growing flood of people joining in their protest, yet the magical population of eastern Europe grew more and more friendly with his views, slowly letting their excitement go adrift and infect more and more people.

But magical Britain stood strong, the firm grasp of Riddle was hardly to be underestimated, and only a few of the occupants of the isles dared to listen, and even less would be openly showing their support. But the seed was planted, just as it had been in France, Germany or the other countries which were slowly but surely turning their favours. Suddenly the second world war was so long ago. Suddenly the losses seemed so marginal, the costs so little and the tears so small. Suddenly everyone saw themselves and the world with new eyes, his eyes lost and in trance by the whispers of the shadows. Yet the people who listened to the whispers were those who would hear the voices when the time came. These people would be the ones that Grindelwald would build on, and these were the people Hadrian would build on as well.

His task, keeping himself and their cause well-received in Durmstrang, was a total success. No little thanks, of course, to the enforcers dispatched to establish themselves within in the castle walls, namely as teachers to either replace people whose loyalties were uncertain or to reassure the wavering students from multiple angles.

At school, Hadrian had taken up the task of training some of the more promising students, as well as those who he felt like could use help, as well as a nudge in the right direction. This had little to do with good intentions, but rather with his goal to rally the students under his banner. And rallying them under his banner meant rallying them under his fathers banner.

Those who were yet undecided or even showed hints of antagonism towards him and their cause were iced out of social groups and ignored by teachers, Ultimately causing them to be ignored completely by everyone who sympathised with Grindelwald's ideologies as if they were branded by a patch claiming they were lesser humans.

.oOo.

The great hall rolled to a standstill. All the talk, all the hushed whispers, the cheers for fellow students who had been sorted into the hoses stopped. Silence.

One could have heard a pin drop.

"Lestrange, Iris!"

The heavily accented voice of the Gryffindor head of house bellowed through the hall like a cannon blast, fired from the lower deck battery of a British warship during the Napoleonic wars.

The name Lestrange was infamous, for obvious reasons. Captured death eaters and found victims of the 'dark lady' reported on her loyalties and those of her family. The former Black, now branded the family name in a way, that people in a centuries time who would carry the name Lestrange would be met with wary glances and gasps.

On the inside, she smiled brightly, her amusement and disgust at the simple-minded idiots sounding her never slipping past and onto her features or her mental shield. She had to be constantly aware of her surroundings, always be on guard and always keep her mind shut to any intrusive glances by the man sitting only a few feet away from her.

She played the part of the afraid stammering stupid girl phenomenally. Her feet carrying her to the stool at the head of the hall.

She wearily eyed the hat before sitting onto the stool and slipping the hat onto her head, who was a few sizes too big for her, causing it to fall over her eyes and momentarily taking her vision.

'Oho…' a loud resounding voice echoed through her head. 'Very interesting… You've got much to hide, don't you?' she knew it was a rhetorical question, so she didn't bother answering, yet it unnerved her how the hat could see through her mental barriers. 'To your luck, and my dismay, I can't reveal the things I've read from deep within you…' the hat continued, booming into her mind drilling for more information 'You know, there are many like-minded people here at this school. May who will, if you play your cards right ease your way towards your ambitious goal.' the hat stopped in his musings.

"I know exactly where to put you..." he intoned the third word with an absolute tone of voice which would have made anyone uneasy who hadn't spent a good chunk of their childhood being tortured by an insane woman. "… SLYTHERIN!" the hat boomed, his voice rushing into every corner of the hall, filling the silence like water spilling into a room.

Thunderous applause meet her form her scaly new friends, yet the hat had just made her voyage a lot harder, as she now was met with murderous looks from the other tables. Something told her that her ability to play the lost little puppy was going to be tested to the most extreme limits and even more so, that how she carried herself now, would be vital to her mission and the next few years of her stay at this castle.

* * *

_Weeks later..._

It had taken some time for Hadrian to complete his latest feat of magic. A thunderstorm and a leaf which had rested in his mouth for the past month. It was a disgusting requirement, one that had ruined multiple of his meals at Durmstrang castle, yet the pay-off was grand.

The ability to turn into an Animagus, no matter which form, allowed opened up before never thought of possibilities.

Hadrian, for that matter, was rather happy with the animal he now was able to turn into. And while it may not allowed him to move discretely under a crowd of people, the form of a gigantic brown bear was certainly more intimidating than one of a rat or a beetle, at least for someone with his standards of appearance.

He had taken the time to work on this little project, simply to further himself, yet it hadn't taken up much of his own time. The group of Durmstrang acolytes certainly were more draining then his other activities.

He had taken to the library most of the ongoing year, trying to escape to the dull and repetitive nature of his Durmstrang years.

Currently, he was sitting at one of the hardwood chairs right before one of the few fireplaces in the whole castle. The comfort of the students wasn't a priority for the staff, not that he was complaining, it could be a lot worse. Yet a slightly more comfortable chair would have been nice.

His nose deep in one of the dusty tomes which had, until recently, remained in the headmaster's office, the other hand twirling the yew wood wand between his fingers. Victor and Stanislav had taken to their brooms and flew over the vast lands that surrounded the castle.

Hadrian didn't feel comfortable on a broom. Something about it being so easily breakable, so manipulable, made it rather unappealing to the young wizard.

He guessed that it had to do with the way his father had taught him, his very own spiel on constant vigilance and being aware of one's surroundings. A broom would make him vulnerable.

He was lost in his own thoughts, causing him not to realize that Natasha had just entered the room. Nor did he realize how she sat down next to him onto the other hardwood chair in front of the fireplace.

"_Heavy reading this late in the evening?_" she asked, a noticeable hint of mirth in her voice. Hadrian, being trained on surprises and surprise attacks didn't jump, remained clam, yet still looked up slightly surprised.

Natasha was a rather beautiful young woman. Her long brown hair, most of the time, bound to a ponytail or a plait, fell down onto her shoulders, her eyes, hidden behind round spectacles, entirely focused on his. She wasn't tall or well build in terms of muscle. She barely reached Hadrian's shoulder with the top of her head and possessed the body of a librarian rather than that of a fighter.

While it may have been impossible to be best in any class she shared with Hadrian, she always remained a close second and, he had no doubt, had he not gotten special training for the better part of his life she would have overtaken him in any non-wand subject by now.

Her usually cold grey eyes had lately taken up a noticeable warmth, the way she acted around and interacted with him had changed as well. She was a lot more mirthful and partially even took on teasing him, something which greatly annoyed him. It wasn't that he minded her being happier around him, yet it was the constant wish to be involved with everything and everyone that interacted with him that annoyed him most.

He liked the Slavic girl, yet he wouldn't hesitate a second if his father gave the order to relieve her of her duty as an acolyte. The same went for Stanislav.

Krum was an exception, a rare one indeed but deserved none the less. He was an important factor in Hadrian's plans and had little to no doubt what so ever that Victor would live up to his expectations and his father's demands.

It was just a few months ago that Hadrian solely trained with Krum, as the others had gotten onto his nerves. This was the contrast he possessed that mattered at the end of the day. Krum was one that knew when to talk and when to simply remain silent and do a job. Neither Hadrian nor Krum truly were children at heart. Something that shone through in their every fibre of being, the way they carried themselves and the way they acted. Hadrian had seen more death and blood then some of the children at Durmstrang would ever see, he had seen curses hurled at him by wizards far more powerful than any of the children at this school would ever face and he had seen magic and sorcery emit from the very tip of his wand that any of the children at this school could ever dream of.

Undoubtedly Hadrian was a skilled wizard, having reached a level of wizardry that many Aurors in the British ministry of magic wouldn't be able to ascend to and partially even further beyond. Dolohov and Karkaroff, his former duelling opponents used for training, weren't able to reach him at all, which was a strong indicator for the progress he had made. Solely his mentor and father Gellert was able to truly defeat him now, yet he didn't decide to flaunt his ability, nor did he plan to overestimate himself nor to underestimate his opponents.

He knew that his father wasn't the best dueller out there any more if he ever even had been. Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore were still the people he had to fear and would have to fear when it came to duelling. But both of the wizards possessed far greater skills than merely duelling, but so did he. Again, he wouldn't overestimate himself, the experience and ability that played into the skill set of his opponents still outweigh his by far. The experience was best gained on a battlefield, something Hadrian had, so far, nearly to no interactions with. Until that changed, he was able to learn all he could from a book, but in the end, would still be defeated by either one of them in a straight duel. Even his father, if he would ever try to kill him, would still have a very realistic chance at beating him in an unfair or even fair duel.

Hadrian knew that at the end of the day, it didn't matter how much he trained himself, how much he prepared, how much he advised his father's acolytes or what spells he knew. At the end of the day, it would come down to luck and resourcefulness. He at possessed at least one of the two.

But the first one would probably soon run out for the girl who had been carefully studying the inscriptions on the cover of the ancient tome.  
"_Yes, some __**heavy**__ literature, I hadn't noticed that it had already grown late -_" Hadrian slowly answered, his voice soft and eloquent. Natasha sensed the danger and quickly took a step back. She always had the ability to put her nose into things that didn't concern her one bit. A perk, or curse changing based on perspective, that had caused her great grief in the past and would be her end if she wasn't careful. Her life at this point almost entirely belonged to Grindelwald entirely. She remained only alive due to him allowing her to do so. Yet she remained so blissfully unaware of that.

It had little to do with the fact that she wasn't aware of the thin ice, but much more the fact that she wasn't aware of how thin the ice as she was strolling on.

"_I'll return to my room once I've finished_," Hadrian stated, his gaze shifting back to the book he was holding. Natasha cringed at the cold rush that accompanied the words, silently nodding and getting up, leaving the blond to his literature, only stopping at the door to wistfully look back at the boy before closing the large door behind her.

Hadrian sighed silently, closing the book. He wished nothing more than to privately continue his training within the walls of the old castle in the Austrian Alps. It was the same thing every year.

Hadrian was amazed by how unimportant the problems of the people around him were. Just a couple of hours ago he saw a few of the boys nearly kicking each other's heads in because they didn't agree on the result of a past Quidditch fixture. Or a group of girls that had quietly talked behind a girl's back, simply because they didn't agree with something she had said within the lessons.

Hadrian had more important matters to think about, and while some of the acolytes within his 'circle' at Durmstrang even understood what happened during the last war and what they would have to expect in the upcoming conflict, he had the numb feeling that there was a selection of people, a majority at that, who currently resided at school, who didn't realize the full weight of their decision to join Grindelwald into this conflict. Of course, there, at this point, was no guarantee that there would even be a conflict to begin with. But both he and his father knew that a peaceful take over of wizarding Europe was a thing of imagination and theory.

There would maybe be no escalation to a full-scale conflict, but the wizards that lived in these countries would be a hindrance due to their own beliefs and values. Some parts of the wizarding populations in occupied countries might rebel. Some countries might fall into a wizarding civil war. There truly was no way of knowing.

But this would one day be his concern, his problem, once the old man would give up his spot to his son. Not something either of them was truly looking forward to.

It was, after all, the goal of Grindelwald, that once the old man would step down, once he either had grown too old or died by a curse, Hadrian would step up and take the helm. It was the reason for his harsh and elongated training, the reason for his stay at Durmstrang.

But, as for his more normal side, he too sometimes felt his attention slipping into the depths of thought that his father wouldn't agree of. Usually, these kinds of thoughts spun around the beautiful petals of the bright and shining French flower that had manifested itself within his mind substituting for the enamouring Fleur Delacour.

She had become one of his, admittedly few, weaknesses, easily taking the top spot on that list. It had been years since he had last been allowed to see her. That one evening spent listening to the music of his violin, while she and her sister had been resting on his bed, silently charmed, entranced even, listening to every note that had fled the instrument.

She was his weakness.

A sentence that ghosted through his mind like a tumour every time he thought of her. He had to protect her at all costs, protect her from the watchful glare of his father and form all suspicion of her importance to him.

She had been his main drive when it came to furthering his mental arts and defensive magic. He would not allow his father to now about his attachment to the girl.

Should the old man suspect anything, he would get rid of the one thing that mattered so much to him.

_Three years later._

_September 1, 1994_

The rain was pouring against the carriages which currently made their way from the little Hogsmeade train station up to the ancient castle.

Iris was sitting in one of them, together with a selection of other Slytherin students, who were all quietly chatting away. She twirled her black hair, which was still untamed and wild, making her look like a deranged woman making her mother proud, between her long fingers.

Her arms were decorated with scars and other blemishes, but her posture was one of whom who demanded respect and loyalty.

Yes, loyalty, something she had fought for and gained over the past few years by many of the older and younger Slytherin students. She was fourteen years old by now, yet she possessed the wizarding skill set of one who had finished school already. But not only that, she mastered many curses and hexes designed to hurt and torture those that she would believe to be disloyal. She knew to avoid casting an unforgivable on these school grounds and she knew to avoid being seen casting any other form of remotely dark magic.

She had, according to the plan of the Dark Lord, somewhat gained the trust of Albus Dumbledore, yet it was at a great cost she had managed this.

The old fool now knew of her past as a Potter, something that had in equal made matters easier and worse. Dumbledore had now taken to tutor her in some aspects of the 'light side' and his magic, yet he didn't explicitly trust her to such a degree to embrace her into his own ranks as he possibly would have if her original plan had succeeded. But at the same time, the man now tried to influence her and use her to his own advantage to ultimately defeat the Dark Lord. She now had to play a life as a double agent, yet the risk of actually compromising her standing was rather low, for now at least.

Her _father_ was amused at the idea of having her fool the old man and at the end turn against his former teacher in a moment of personal weakness. He had often told the girl that he would love to see the old man's confused and hurt face when she would raise her wand against him.

But her closeness to the old headmaster also had another perk. She knew, somewhat at least, what he knew and what he was planning on doing. This, of course, being a normal perk for a double agent usually, meant that she could give information to her _father_ which in turn helped his efforts. But this also meant that she was updated on another campaign that was currently playing out in the rest of wizarding Europe.

Gellert Grindelwald and his wizarding army made mighty strides towards domination of the wizarding world. Based on the information she managed to catch and find, Grindelwald currently was focusing on the southern parts of Europe, having successfully found mighty allies within Austrian, German, Hungarian and Scandinavian governments. There were even rumours of the French joining his cause, yet the intelligence of Dumbledore and his allies left much to wish for in terms of actual evidence.

The carriage came to a sudden stop, pulling the girl out of her musings, the chatter stopped and the students within said carriages began to exit to walk the few meters left towards the castle entrance themselves.

Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott flanked the black-haired girl, while Pansy and Malfoy walked slightly behind the three of them. A few other Slytherins walked with the group, yet they maintained a respectful distance from Iris herself.

Many Slytherin students already had the pleasure of being at the receiving end of one of her curses, an experience most of them wouldn't like to repeat.

The students filtered into the great hall, wet hair clinging to most peoples faces, happy chatter filled the hall. The four large tables, each representing the four houses of the ancient castle.

The teachers had already taken their seats at the head table, most notably the spot of the teacher for defence against the dark arts wasn't taken by a new teacher but rather remained empty. "Looks like they haven't found a replacement for old Professor Lupin after last year, pathetic really," Malfoy whispered to Iris, who had taken the place next to her. "Yeah," Pansy sniggered as she overheard what Malfoy said, "it makes you wanna spew! Or rather _howl_..." the group started laughing.

It had turned out, at the end of last year, that the defence against the dark arts teacher Professor Remus Lupin had a _furry little secret_, as Zabini liked to call it. It had been enough to force the teacher to resign his duty as a teacher and leave near the end of term, much to the dismay of many of the students of Hogwarts, who truly liked that teacher.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore rose from his seat at the centre of the table, the sorting ceremony had taken place and as usual, the students were introducing themselves to their new housemates, clearing his throat loudly and using his knife to cling against his glass to announce his intention of starting to speak.

The great hall fell silent, the students focused solely on him now, waiting for him to start speaking.

"I know that you all can't wait to finally eat and fall into bed after your long journey here, yet I can't let you go before I announce a few things that will impact your upcoming year." he shortly paused, letting the words reach the students before he continued talking.

"As some of you may have noticed, our seat reserved for the defence against the dark arts teacher remained empty throughout the sorting ceremony. This is due to the fact, that our teacher will arrive later this year, but more to that later. Until he does, I will personally take over the classes." with that announcement, the students fell into a heated discussion with their next bank neighbour. "It may have been a few years since I last toughed, yet I think I still got the hang of it, for a while at least." Dumbledore chuckled.

Malfoy sneered at the announcement before turning to the group of Slytherins and whispering "Good thing the position is cursed, maybe we'll be rid of the old fool before the end of the term." causing pansy to snigger. Theo only shook his head before answering silently as well "He just said it is only temporary, don't get your hopes up." before turning his attention back to the headmaster. Malfoy only grinned and whispered more to himself than to Theo or the others "Let a man dream.".

"But this isn't all, -" Dumbledore called out loudly, regaining the attention of the hall. "We'll also be playing host to two other schools from wizarding Europe this year, who'll be competing in one of the greatest tournaments the wizarding world is able to present." he made a dramatic pause before raising his voice and calling out loudly "_The Triwizard Tournament_"

* * *

_A few weeks later._

"Now as many of you saw, the students from the other schools have Arrived today. They have spent the entire day getting day travelling here, so I expect you to give them a warm and lovely welcome here in this castle." Dumbledore intoned heavily, a tone that expected obedience and order, his vision shifted to the Gryffindor table to the two Weasley twins, notorious pranksters and childish Gryffindors at heart.

A few of the Slytherins, especially Draco, Iris and the others from the group, already knew who would be joining them for the remainder of the school year, as Draco's father had good ties with the minister of magic.

"Now please, quiet down and give a warm welcome to our brothers and sisters, the proud sons and daughters of Durmstrang and their headmaster Igor Karkaroff."

The door flew open and a group of maybe one and a half dozen students walked in. At the head of the group were four men. The two in the centre, were rather imposing figures, some that would demand the utmost respect and obedience by any they interacted with.  
On one hand, the older of the two was tall, like Dumbledore himself, he seemed rather cheerful, yet his cold and hard eyes showed otherwise. He didn't seem genuine but rather unnerving, a man one would rather not want to come across in an empty alleyway late at night. He had a rather weak chin which he tired to hide with a goatee while he wore a sleek dress made from silver fur.

The other man wore a heavy black coat that hid most of his body, yet by the spring in his step, one could guess he was a rather athletic person. He had bright blond hair that came across as rather untamed and wild. His eyes, possibly his most impressive feature, shone brightly as if they were hiding great wisdom and power. But that wasn't necessarily the most impressive part about them, rather the fact that on shone in bright emerald green, while the other was ice blue. His rather aristocratic features were schooled into a neutral, expressionless face, yet if one regarded him closely, they would find that there was a hint of disgust in his eyes.

He was also rather tall, standing at roughly 6'5'' or 1.95 meters he towered even over the old man next to him. Walking about slightly behind his left shoulder was another tall boy, yet he proved to be a familiar face.

"Holy shit, that's _Victor Krum-_" a few students silently whispered among themselves. Many of whom had seen the Bulgarian fly in the World Cup final a few weeks back, playing as a seeker for his national team and catching the golden snitch, yet still losing said final against the Irish.

Iris herself had attended the Final as guests to the Malfoy family, who had invited her along with the other members of their group.

"Please find a seat at any of the tables here, we have made extra room for you," Dumbledore called out to the students while welcoming the Headmaster and the last of the four men who had led the group into the room. Malfoy had quickly forced the rest of the students to move one or two seats up and waved to the Bulgarian seeker and pointed to the space next to him. Victor saw the gesture and turned to the blond boy that had walked into the hall before him before pointing at the general direction of their group.

They seemingly started talking before the Bulgarian seeker raised his hands in a submissive manner before nodding and then looking to the other tables. A frown appeared on Malfoys face as he noticed this and turned to the others. "Who does that guy think he is?"

At that very moment, the blond boy turned around and looked directly at Malfoy and their group. Iris instantly felt a broadside hitting her mental defences in such a way that it nearly destroyed them in their entirety. She felt a slight panic rise within her by that moment. For a second she thought it could have been Dumbledore, yet he never would attack a student mentally in school. At least he had never done it before and that left her with the likely conclusion that the boy had just nearly ruined her entire plan to assassinate her headmaster, with a simple glance.

This boy was dangerous.

The blond boy turned to Victor and another two students pointing at the Slytherin table directly where they were sitting. Krum nodded, while the other two only hesitantly agreed.

"Better make space for more," Theo whispered to Draco, who had remained oblivious to what had transpired at the very head of the hall. Draco looked up to see the four students approach them.

"Move," the tall dark-haired boy said that had accompanied the three others to the Slytherin table, his eyes focused on Theo and Blaise. Both of them looked at each other and made moves to start getting up, before Malfoy loudly spoke up, his attention solely on the blond boy and Krum. "I don't remember inviting half of your school to sit here with us." he simply stated in calm, yet provocative, way. "Unless of course, they're your entourage -" Malfoy said, looking directly at Krum.

* * *

Victor was about to answer to the blond boy, before Hadrian put his hand on the back of his friend, just below his neck, urging Victor to let him handle the situation.

Victor closed his mouth again and simply focused on the other two Slytherins that were yet to move.

Hadrian put on his best smile and reached out to give the fourth year his hand. "I don't think we're on an even playing field here, Mr Malfoy, as I know your name yet you do not know mine." his voice sweet like silk yet sharp as a great sword, dangerous.

His father and the headmaster had provided him with the needed information about most of the important families in great Britten and their children who currently resided at Hogwarts. It could be helpful to get a few allies more on the British Isles before they made themselves known, and while most pureblood families were understandably against their cause, it never harmed anyone to try and make allies with potential enemies to shorten the risk of all-out war.

The Malfoys were one of those families. They had close ties to the British minister and the ministry of magic, making them in the eyes of Grindelwald useful potential allies, yet their ties with the Dark Lord Tom Riddle were tough and hard to be broken by a single attempt. It was one of the reasons that Hadrian was sent to represent their school in this ridiculous tournament.

"My name is Hadrian Aaronovitch, but you may call me Adrian," Hadrian spoke swiftly. "Our family used to live in Bulgaria, yet the conflicts in our international wizarding community drove us to Germany over the past few generations. We are an, as you may call it, a most ancient and noble family who takes pride in our traditions." Hadrian intoned the last bit slightly still holding out his hand. "One of them is the wish for satisfaction once someone disrespects our family -" this time, his gaze slightly shifted from the boys face to his own hand before it returned to his face, slightly raising an eyebrow.

"You know, you probably should take his hand Draco," Iris whispered into his ear, still not having forgotten what had happened to her defences after a simple two-second touch of Legilimency send to her by the boy who was currently being disrespected by her very own best friend.

It took another five seconds before Malfoy stood up and took Hadrian's hand, a slightly annoyed look on his face. His eyes never leaving the Blond boys face, with his attention turned to both Nott and Zabini as well as Parkinson he told them to clear up and search for another place to sit. The three gladly did, as they felt slightly intimidated by both the presence of an international Quidditch star as well as one of a person who had an extremely unnerving aura around him.

"Sit" Hadrian mentioned to the others, the dark-haired boy who first spoke to Nott and Zabini walked around the table to sit down next to Malfoy, while both Natasha and Krum sat down on each side leaving Hadrian enough space to sit down in-between them.

Igor Karkaroff, who had watched the events unfold from a distance, had slowly covered the distance between the two and the teachers table, as he was now standing a few meters down the table before barking something in Bulgarian to his own student who ever so slightly shook his head, his eyes never leaving those of the Slytherin. Karkaroff stepped closer to the Hogwarts student before speaking silently, yet loud enough to be heard by the others how were around them and had followed the unfolding events, "Don't play vith vire boy. Take dis as a vord ov varning.".

This caused Malfoy to break eye contact with Hadrian to look at the Bulgarian headmaster, who had already turned around and made his way back up to the teacher's table.

Iris gently pulled Malfoy down onto his seat by his uniform, seemingly defusing the situation in its entirety, as Hadrian also sat down and gently began talking to Natasha in a hushed Bulgarian.

"Now that all our Bulgarian friends have been seated, -" Dumbledore spoke loudly, causing the remaining students who either hand not found a seat to find one or to stop talking to their neighbour. Most of the Durmstrang students had taken a seat at either the Ravenclaw or the Slytherin table, yet leaving enough space for other students to take place if the need should arise.

"- I would like to introduce you all, to the lovely witches and chivalrous wizards of Beauxbatons. Give them a warm welcome." Dumbledore, again intoning the latter part of his statement, began clapping, as the door opened and a selection of students, about the same size as the one from Durmstrang entered the hall, led by a woman who, while letting on she was in a more advanced age than the headmaster of Durmstrang, still emitted an aura of determination. Her face and body led on that she once must have been a more than stunning lady, and while she may have come into higher age, she still showed that beauty in parts. Her hair was in parts golden blond in parts white, she had bright green eyes and was maybe a few inches over five feet tall.

"Some of you may have heard that the former headmistress of Beauxbatons, Madam Maxim, left the school and was replaced about three years ago by Madame De Lune," Dumbledore explained.

'Madame De Lune' Hadrian thought, a smile creeping onto his face. He had heard that his father had replaced the old Headmistress, as she was too friendly with Dumbledore and instead put Queenie Goldstein in charge of the school. She had quickly created a personality with Claire De Lune, which basically meant moonshine, as Goldstein wasn't really a name a French person would possess.

But Hadrian's smile quickly fell, as he spotted a student amongst the line of beautiful French girls, he really had hoped he wouldn't be seeing.

His weakness had followed him to a place where he needed it the least. While he had hoped it wouldn't have to come to this, he knew it would and so he had somewhat expected to see her here. She always had been a bright student and a bright young lady at that.  
It had been years and years since he had last seen her. Deep down he had hoped it would be years and years from now until he would see her again.

* * *

Fleur Delacour was standing a few feet behind her headmistress within the great hall of Hogwarts. It was a lousy castle. Cold and filled with rough British boys and pride full as well as envious British girls. Six years she had spent in the pompous halls and towers of Beauxbatons in France. Warm weather and beautiful sun.

She wasn't happy at the prospect of spending a few months in the cold and rain-filled north of the British isles, yet she had been selected to join her delegation of students to the castle in the Scottish mountains. She was one of the best students the school could offer, which was high praise. Yet right now, she wished she wouldn't have put that much effort into her grades after all.

But neither the climate nor the school's architecture was her biggest problems. It was the fact that she, as a part veela by blood and a full veela by appearance, would have to spent nearly an entire school year in the presence of ogling boys and bitchy girls, who had never seen a veela before.  
This, among others, was the main reason that she currently felt a major chunk of the attention of the hall on herself. She could almost feel every single one of them looking at her, yet there was one stare, one look, that was different from the others.

She felt it differently, almost gentle in contrast to the others.

Fleur turned in the hall, looking along all and every one of the tables. In the back of her mind, a memory began unravelling. She still saw the hall, yet the smell, the sound and even the taste of the air were different than just a few moments ago. She felt a cold breeze washing over her, the air tasted fresh like taking a deep breath at sea or on a mountain. There was music playing. The scent of her sister crept into her nose among those of parchment and freshly made sheets.

The music slowly became louder and louder, the longer she looked down the tables of the hall, trying to find a familiar face.

She recognized the instrument, a set of strings, a violin. The smell of a wood-burning in a fireplace, parchment from an old book, the freshly made sheets of a soft bed, the sent and even the snoring of her younger sister so many years ago, and finally, the smell of _him_. An indescribable scent.

At that very moment, she locked eyes with the boy she had last seen so many years ago. A boy that had grown to her heart and had found a resting place there.

The blond hair, the blue and green eyes, the chiselled jaw and the unmistakable presence of a strong man how knew how to get what he wanted.

_Harry._

She screamed in her mind. Memories rushing back of days spent sitting under a tree near Delacour manor looking at clouds. Days spent playing with fantastical beasts that her father kept, him telling her all about them, while she simply would listen to his voice.

_Harry._

The longing she felt since they had last seen each other. The wish to visit him in his castle. The wish to hug him, to hold him tight. To simply listen to him play his violin.

_Harry Potter._

* * *

A/N: to clear up any misunderstandings: I don't plan to give up this story soon but rather to continue writing it... I may become slightly disconnected from my characters but I won't stop so easily...

This story is a lot of fun and I hope you enjoy it too.


	6. Champions

_**A/N: **So, I decided to crunch out another chapter before I ultimately get to busy. I just received the first plans for my upcoming semester and it doesn't look pretty. I'm going to try to get out at least one more chapter by the end of January, but I can't make promises. I'm guessing I'll manage two in February if I manage my time right maybe more. In May I doubt I will have the head to write Fanfiction, same in April and possibly in March._

_What I'm trying to say is that I don't plan to stop here, but as mentioned in the chapter before, shit is getting real in my life right now. I can trifle in some writing time here and there but the quality will suffer from it._

**Something I want to point out publically, as there have been a few people pointing out the lack of heart or chemistry in the given couple: Both Harry and Fleur have seen each other back when they were still kids. The concept of love was, at least for Harry, at that point a complete myth. He had, of course, the Delacours as his replacement family, yet Grindelwald was his father figure, thus having a large influence on his development in every regard. Fleur grew up in a family that loved her very much, Harry didn't truly have that. While his parents were on the run from Voldemort they couldn't treat him like usual parents would treat their child, and while they tried their best it ultimately proved to be to little time to truly have an impact.**

**Harry and Fleur don't have Chemistry at this point, because there is no love between them outside of love you would maybe feel for a family member or a good friend. But that changed, as they lost connection, causing them to feel a great loss in terms of their social life. When they later reconnect, they do it as new people, grown by the different challenges they had to overcome during their time of growth.**

**To summarize, they can't feel like a proper pair of lovers until they love each other. Sounds logical right? **_Yeah! _**I love your enthusiasm.**

_Great, so that this is now out of the way, I hope you enjoy this chapter. _

* * *

_**Chapter Six**_

_Champions_

"Now that our guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang all found a seating arrangement, -" Dumbledore called out, the chatter in the hall slowly dying down, "- I will continue with a few announcements before you are all able to enjoy dinner."

The students from all three school silently stared up at the teacher's table were, by now, a new person had taken a seat. An old wizard with dark hair and a long pale face, tall and thin with a thick yet well-groomed beard, he wore a long, dark-grey robe over a burgundy coloured three-piece suit which seemed to be of higher quality. His grey, near lifeless eyes, gently rested on the grand hall's entrance, while he gently rubbed his hand, which was covered by a black leather glove, over a former gash that seemingly had turned into a nasty scar which now decorated his face.

He gave off an intimidating aura, one that perfectly mirrored those of the people he arrived with. He had been the fourth, and last, of the four leading men of the Durmstrang school segment. To the Hogwarts students, he gave the entirely opposite image to the man who sat in the very same seat a year ago. "Some of you -" the headmaster continued "- will have noticed that, together with our friends from abroad, we have some more guests here, who will call this castle home until the end of the tournament." Only now, many students noticed that there where two more arrivals, which had been overshadowed by the school's entrances. "Some of you will recognize former Wimbourne Wasps as well as English national beater and now head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports Ludovic Bagman -" Dumbledore pointed to a man with blonde hair, baby blue eyes, rosy skin and a broken nose, who currently was wearing a bright yellow robe. At the mentioning of his name, he quickly stood up from his seat at the table and gave the assembled student body a big shit-eating grin and a wave before sitting down again, seemingly pleased with himself.

"- and of course former head of magical law enforcement and current head of the department of International Magical Cooperation, Bartemius Crouch -" the headmaster now pointed at the other end of the teacher's table, were a man with short grey hair had taken a seat. His seemingly unnaturally pin-point accurate appearance, going from his hair, which sported a neat parting, over his toothbrush sized moustache and perfectly arranged clothing, instantly gave him the appearance of an official of any sort.

He, as well, got up from his seat, yet in contrast to his seemingly joyful counterpart, he neither smiled nor waved, but simply nodded and sat down again. Never one the hint of emotion on his frozen, steel-like features.

"- and finally, our newest member of the Hogwarts staff, while only a temporary one: former head of the Bulgarian magical law enforcement as well as a veteran of the Grindelwald conflict, Miroslav Aaronovitch."

* * *

_A few weeks ago._

_Nurmengard castle, Austria._

Gellert Grindelwald was currently sitting in his study, a large map of Europe was resting on the large table he usually sat at, slightly covered by a few books here and there. Before him were standing two people, on one hand, his by now seventeen-year-old son and one of the strongest wizards he had the pleasure of seeing in action. On the other, an old double agent that, a few months before the end of the conflict had joined his ranks, as well as the ranks of the Bulgarian muggle and magical government. Miroslav Aaronovitch had been one of the most useful tools in his arsenal during that time, as he gave him an insight into both the muggle as well as the magical world from a less tainted perspective. Aaronovitch fed the cause with information from both sides, which was a great help in the war efforts on the eastern front, while remaining entirely unsuspected, due to the special nature of his position within said ministries.

Later in the conflict, once it became more and more clear that Grindelwald was loosing, Aaronovitch didn't jump ship, but rather remained loyal through the dark lord's fall. It was only on explicit orders, given to him weeks before the end of the conflict, that he turned his wand against his former allies in Grindelwald and his ranks to uphold the farce. He had brought in dozens of Grindelwald's followers in Bulgaria, earning him the rank of head of magical law enforcement as well as the title of veteran and for some even war hero. An ironic turn of events for a, as Grindelwald had used to call him, master spy.

In the mid-1950s, Aaronovitch married a veela and left the ministry for good, causing a collapse of the internal power structure of the Bulgarian DMLE. Even now, nearly thirty years after the fact, the ministry hadn't fully recovered, which had eased the path for Grindelwald greatly, allowing him to basically waltz in and undermine the minister completely. It had taken time, two years to be precise, but it had been worth it. Every action taken against Grindelwald and his men was almost certainly doomed to fail, do to the German knowing exactly what they had planed the second the order was given. He had informants everywhere.

The reason for Aaronovitch's appearance before him though had only partly to do with his past serving him. Gellert knew that for his son's upcoming task, he would need cover from one, who he himself could trust enough but also was experienced in the art of trickery.

"_Miroslav my old friend._" Gellert spoke, his age by now having manifested itself in his voice, "_It is good to see you again."_

The German slowly got up and rounded the table to look the man up and down. He was a tall man, his posture, even after taking his advanced age into account, still stood firm. "_I need you for a task, Miroslav, an important task. One that may or may not cause our plans to manifest and allow us to, peacefully, 'conquer' the British ministry of magic._"

Aaronovitch only nodded slightly, waiting on a more detailed description of his upcoming task. He slightly adjusted the leather glove that was sitting on where his right hand used to be. He lost it in a rather uncomfortable scrap with one of his master's former closer followers who were firm in their believes that he had betrayed the dark lord and wanted to avenge his fallen master by killing the traitor. It ended with him losing his hand, forcing him to animate a glove to replicate the usage that his hand used to provide him, yet his endeavours left him with little success.

"Hadrian!" Grindelwald said loudly, addressing his son who had been standing beside the Bulgarian silently for the past few minutes, not moving a single muscle. "I take it you know of the contents of your next year? I heard Karkaroff explain it to you already. You will remain hereafter, we will discuss a new entry in that book of yours I gifted you years ago."

The boy only nodded gently, his eyes never leaving the table before him. "Good, you will need a new name for the next year, your family name will not do while you are on British territory." again, Hadrian only nodded, he already knew all this. It wasn't a genius needed to see that someone with the surname Grindelwald would attract unwanted attention within a castle that was run by the know vanquisher of said dark lord. Dumbledore would have him watched anyways, his pure magic being enough to attract attention from a blind man, or muggle in that case.

"Aaronovitch, you will pose as the boy's father for the entirety of my sons stays in Britain. You will assist him to the best of your ability, any order from him is to be taken as an order from me." Grindelwald had turned back to the Bulgarian, now standing only inches away from him, "If you manage this, you will have your spot in our reformed world waiting for you." the old man spoke now a little more gentle.

"And should this not be enough for you -" Grindelwald spoke, his wand suddenly in hand grabbing the Bulgarians right arm and vanishing the gauntlet before drawing a line from the stump up with the tip of the wand.

A tingling sensation spread over the arm, causing the man to wish to itch the spot where his hand used to be. Then, in a split second, an immense shook wave of pain rushed through his body, radiating from the stump. Miroslav closed his eyes, not completely managing to hide the scream of pain rushing through his clenched teeth.

The afterglow of the pain lasted another minute, Grindelwald's hand having never let go of his arm, sternly forcing it to remain where he held it. Aaronovitch tried to keep his body in check, not wanting to accidentally touch or even hit the old German, knowing that this would very well be the last thing he would do. He had seen his son fight, knowing fully well that he would have killed him within the splinter of a second, should he truly, accidental or not, hit his father.

Only after the old man had let go of his arm, he dared to slowly open his eyes, the pain having slowly subsided. He couldn't believe his own senses, the part of his arm where he had been used to see nothing more than the remains of his once intact limb, had fully regrown, allowing him to use and feel once again as if the interaction with the wizard had never happened.

"_H-Ho-How?_" he simply managed to stutter, looking up at the older man, only now having realized he had scrunched over from the pain.  
"Magic."

* * *

_Present._

_The great hall, Hogwarts._

Draco Malfoy was extremely interested in the arrival of the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. While it may have put a bumper on his hope of being rid of the old headmaster, the teacher seemed interesting.

"- as well as a veteran of the Grindelwald conflict, Miroslav Aaronovitch." Dumbledore announced, pointing at the tall dark-haired man sitting at the table. Hearing that name, Draco's attention instantly snapped to Adrian sitting on the exact opposite side of the table, who currently was using a knife as a mirror to remove a piece of food that had stuck between two of his teeth.

"That's your father?" Draco asked, slightly surprised. Letting the accolades go through his head once again, it surely made sense that the son of the former head of the DMLE in Bulgaria and of a war veteran was respected among his peers in school. "Yes." was the only answer he received, Adrian not even looking up from the knife, seemingly much more interested in the piece of food stuck between his teeth than in conversation with Malfoy. "You two don't really look alike though." Draco pointed out, not picking up the hint, continuing in trying to establish a conversation between the two. Only now, it was, that Draco realized that he should try to get on Adrian's good side, as it potentially could come with helpful perks later on.

"If you say so." Aaronovitch answered, still not interested in the conversation the boy was offering.

.oOo.

The applause died down and the teacher took his seat again, allowing the headmaster to continue his speech. "Now, I know many of you will have tried to find out about what this Triwizard tournament will be like." Dumbledore explained loudly to the entire hall, "But this year, after it had been reworked entirely by the governments of magical Europe, in order to assure a higher sense of security into the tournament, after fatal incidents leading to it being last held in the late 18th century, the rules have changed."

Dumbledore looked down the tables of students. He could already foresee the chaos that was about to unfold once he would give the limitations. He knew many would want to break the age limitations, to get their shot at 'eternal glory'.

"From this year onwards, no student under the age of seventeen will be able to enter his or her name into the goblet to enter the tournament."

_'Three… Two… One…'_  
A loud uproar could be heard, the outcry of voices probably echoing far enough to still be audible in Hogsmeade, students yelled in outrage, some even straight up claiming they would still enter. The Wesley twins were probably the loudest of the bunch of Hogwarts pupil. Both the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students remained silent, as all of them were in their seventh year of education, yet seemed slightly surprised at the annunciation.

"BUT-" Dumbledore cut in, trying to calm the hall down with little effect. It took the elder Aaronovitch to calm down the hall, as he pulled out his wand and conjured a cannon-like sound, which ricochets from the halls creating a deafening sound.

Turning to said teacher, after the echo of both students and the deafening blast, Dumbledore gave him a slight nod in thanks before turning back to the students.

"As I was about to say -" he cleared his throat, speaking up loudly again "In order to allow a more level playing field, we will also pull THREE students from each school to take part in a selection of less unpredictable tasks. Theses three students will pose as captains for their selective teams: The duelling team, the Quidditch team and lastly the wizarding chess team. For these competitions, we have a limit of sixth year, fifth year and first year in the corresponding order, with exceptions for the duelling team, if a witch or wizard possesses enough skill to compete at sixth-year level."

This led to more mixed results, in terms of reception. The students who could enter their favoured competition seemed happy by the turn of events, especially the Quidditch team members seemed delighted by the news to compete against, among others, Victor Krum, who most people believed would join the Durmstrang Quidditch team, if not captain it himself.

"Of course, for the three selected individual school champions, you will be able to also compete in the other competitions." Dumbledore added. "Around Christmas time this year, Hogwarts will host the Yule ball. Your parents are already notified and were informed to send you dress robes for said occasion." "The remaining competitions, meaning both individual and team competitions, will be held over the course of the year. You will, from now on, have twenty-four hours to enter your name in either, or both, the goblet of fire, which will be protected by an age line causing it to reject any witch or wizard who doesn't meet the requirements, and the lists hanging in your common rooms." Dumbledore finished his speech and, with the clap of his hands, the food appeared in front of them on the table as usual.

* * *

The nature that surrounded the castle in the Scottish highlands was a truly marvellous thing to witness. Lush grass, wet meadows, crystal clear water and an always present mountain breeze. Rustling wind in the branches of the trees, as well as bird songs together with the silent waves gently washing over the gravel beach, created a soothing atmosphere for anyhow took the time and relaxed for a while.

The large tree by the lake was a rather popular spot for some to do their class works and assigned essays, so long the wind wasn't blowing with an unreasonable strength. But it wasn't classwork or an essay that had brought the young French witch to the popular spot.

Fleur had needed a place to think, to breath, and the confined space of the Beauxbatons carriage didn't offer said breathing room. It hadn't taken a long while for her to find that spot. It possessed an almost unnatural pull for the young veela.

With little regard for her rather expensive uniform, her beautifully made hair or the type of shoes she was wearing, she had set out for this spot. A couple of minutes ago the young woman had thrown her name into the goblet, hesitantly so, yet determined to prove herself as more than just a pretty face.

Yes, her parents loved her. Yes, they would give a lot for her. But it wasn't that what she feared, but rather the intentions of the people surrounding them. She feared what could become of her if she didn't bow to Grindelwald and she feared what would happen if she did. Her father had always told her that they would support her choices in life, yet she didn't think she had much of a choice in this regard. Not because she feared them going back on their words, but rather what would happen to them if they went through with their promise. Harry's father would not tolerate betrayal any more or less then any other _fanatic_ man or woman would.

Harry was also a point she had to consider. It had been years since they had last spoken, years since they had last seen each other. They had once been so close, yet the time had forced them apart, and it was his reaction she feared most. This man had given him everything, altered plans and build alliances with his son's interest in mind, he would remain loyal to his father until his dying breath, it was, after all, all his family left.

Now, this put her into a position of great uncertainty, as she by no means what so ever knew if Harry reciprocated the fondness she felt for him. He had been a good friend many many years ago, but friends grew apart.

She had spent many sleepless nights remembering the time they spent together, their last farewell, the beautiful melody and his kind words. Even then, at the tender age of eleven, he had been more ruthless than many ever could dream of being, besting his father, one of the greatest wizards to ever live, in single one on one combat.

The thought of betraying him wouldn't even cross her mind, not that she would be likely to survive such an action, a nasty thought. Maybe a few days ago, when she hadn't seen him for over half a decade, but now she felt weak again. A simple look into his eyes had been enough for her to remember everything she had ever said to him, everything he had ever said to her.

Having seen him in Hogwarts' great hall had made her realize many things. First of all, the fact she was in his simple presence had made her hyper-aware, before even realizing he had been present, her neck hair had risen the second she felt his eyes on him. He had recognized her, she knew it, she could sense it in the way he had been looking at her.

She remembered the stark contrast between him and the others in the hall, most of whom had looked at her like a piece of meat, lust-filled and dreamy-eyed. He, on the other hand, had looked at her in a gentle, nearly protective manner, familiarity had shone through his bright, multicoloured eyes. It provided her with a strange feeling, an almost natural sensation, yet she hadn't been able to place a word on it.

It was the veela part of her that made her interaction, or non-interaction for that matter, with him even more memorable.  
As usual for any girl her age, and especially for veela, she had her needs. Carnal desires that called out to her every time she interacted with attractive men, and sometimes women.

What for most would be nothing more than a gentle whisper of lust calling out from their core, was to her a succubus, a little demoness, hell, sometimes even a raging storm, spinning around her head, nearly yelling at her to act on her more basic desires. And while many may have succumbed to their lust, she had never gone further than simple _self-exploration_.

Of course she had found herself intrigued by one or the other boy at her school, yet she never truly desired them. The lust in her was constantly boiling, yet she found that none of the men she saw every day truly excited her.

Others may have still gone through with it, slept with multiple guys simply to satisfy their needs, as they would do the same. But not her, she was a Delacour. The stubbornness of the Delacour women being a broadly known trait in their family.

But as she had laid her eyes on Harry in the grand hall, she had felt something tug within her. She didn't even know why.

It wasn't like she had a reason to be attracted to him, she barely, if at all, knew his older self. It had been some time around her first year that her parents had forbidden her to visit, or even interact, with Harry again. She had hated them for it.  
Only later on she had learned that it had been Grindelwald who had ordered the Delacour heiress to take a step back out of his life.

Of course, that hadn't stopped her from writing letters to him, only that she had never received answers. Even simple birthday cards didn't find a way from either one of them to the other. Only once, on her thirteenth birthday, she had received a present from Harry. It had been a small necklace which, once opened, summoned a small violin which played a familiar tune. While the violin would be playing the necklace would emit a gentle, comforting warmth, which, when in contact with her skin, quickly spread. Within the necklace also was a picture of them, possibly taken from memory, of the two of them sitting under the tree near Delacour manor, many many years ago.

On that picture, she had looked so relaxed, at peace even, as did he. A gentle smile tugging on his features while she rested her head, framed by soft blond hair, on his shoulder. The picture had even been enchanted, so once the music had finished, the litter her would raise her hand and excitedly clap, while the little Harry would simply start to laugh, no sinister or dark laugh, but a warm, healthy and even contagious laugh.

It had been at her bedside at the end of her thirteenth birthday, no note or anything had been attached to it. This had been their only interaction since her first day at Beauxbatons, but it hardly counted as one. No words had been exchanged, they hadn't even seen eye to eye until the day before now in the great hall.  
So it was, with great pessimism, that Fleur Delacour realized she was in a pat situation. She couldn't win without losing a great deal. Should she chose her conscience over her heart, there was a very good chance she would lose her life. Choosing said conscience over her heart would result in her not only betraying her parents but also her long-time friend, who she had no idea how he thought about her. Maybe Grindelwald had told the boy that she wanted to stop seeing him, maybe Harry had been the one that told his father of his disinterest in continuing a friendship with her. Yet the necklace which currently rested below her school uniform on her chest told her that at least the second one seemed less likely. This brought her to her other choice, heart over conscience.

Should she choose this, both her families, as well as her own life, was saved. She would allow her parents a great deal of relief and her the opportunity to make the most of her life, should Grindelwald and Harry succeed. But this also meant that the world would greatly change into something she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to be apart of. Grindelwald's success was ultimately coinciding with the abolishment of the statue of secrecy imposed by both the British as well as any other wizarding government all across the world. This could lead to three possible outcomes. Two of which meant war.

But supporting Grindelwald also had another perk, one that she found herself more and more pulled by. She may not like the old man, as he was a rather manipulative old bastard, yet he was still better than the man most only called '_He-who-must-not-be-named_'. Grindelwald respected the Delacours for their politics and their magic. He saw in them useful allies that would once be needed, surely be a detrimental factor to his success on the continent. There were many cruel things he had done for the greater good, but one thing she couldn't place as a burden on him. She couldn't say he hadn't been fair to those who, if one were to believe '_He-who-must-not-be-named_', were lesser people. Veela were half-bloods at best, which of course stood against the pureblood cause of '_He-who-should-not-be-named_'. Grindelwald, on the other hand, saw both Muggles as well as Veela as the hope for wizarding kind. Muggles were a tool to him, while Veela had magic flowing through them. Both counteracted the inbreeding that traditionalists and purebloods preferred.

Muggles had no magic, so they had no use to him. He, similarly to his counterpart in Britain, saw them as lower-class citizens. People who should bow to those greater than them by their magic. Veela, on the other hand, were magical beings and in that earning at least some respect by the maniac.

Grindelwald stood strongly against the pureblood traditionalists that ruled over Great Britain. This meant supporting Grindelwald ultimately also meant fighting against a man who would, should he win the upcoming conflict, look down on her as if she was a lower class citizen. Something her pride didn't, and wouldn't, allow.

Of course, she wasn't forced to make her choice just yet. But it wouldn't be long when she would either have to choose the moral high ground and possibly endanger both her life and that of her family or choosing the lesser of two evils by aligning herself with Grindelwald against '_He-who-should-not-be-named_', fully knowing that, should he win, she could be forced into a war against muggles. And if she wasn't completely mistaken, this would be a war that the wizarding community of Europe wouldn't survive.

To put her situation in simpler terms, once the time had come, Fleur would have to choose between Hell with or without Harry. But she didn't know how much that little detail would influence her choice yet.

* * *

The goblet lit up with bright blue flames, confirming Hadrian's entry into the Triwizard tournament. A group of Durmstrang students, which had been lingering around the cup to look at the people who entered their name into the cup, started clapping and hollering loudly, some even falling into a Bulgarian chant.

Even a few of the Hogwarts students had politely clapped as he had thrown in his name, yet most of them seemed rather reserved.

All three competing schools had a few students present in the hall during day time, incessantly waiting for one of their own to enter their name into the cup. The elder Aaronovitch even had remained in the shadows of the hall, watching over the students, mostly to make sure that none of the Hogwarts or Beauxbatons students tried to gain a one-up by magically influencing it. Of course, it was rather paranoid to believe a mere teenager would be able to enter their name into the cup, while not being allowed in by the age line. Only a few, one of them posing as his son at this very moment, were even able to cast a strong enough confounds to potentially influence it. But those who could, wouldn't need to, as they would be eligible to enter anyways. No sixth year or below would be able to perform such a spell.

A group of nearby Hogwarts students had watched the mysterious Durmstrang students throw his name into the cup. At their very centre, one could spot three young Gryffindor fourth-year boys sitting and discussing their potential opposition in the individual task, as well as who would represent their school.

"A snake, are you serious? No way the goblet would choose a slimy Slytherin over a Gryffindor!" a loud-mouthed redhead, the tallest of the bunch, seemingly not having noticed that his voice carried nearly through the entire hall. Either that or he simply didn't care enough to lower the volume of his yelling to more acceptable levels. "Surely the cup will choose Johnson! She's probably better with her wand then Warrington is with either of his!" a boy with a rather noticeable Irish accent yelled out loudly, causing the surrounding Hogwarts students, of which none were Slytherins, to laugh.

A taller, dark-skinned Gryffindor boy, who had been sitting next to the two other boys, suddenly tugged the redhead on his school robes. Pointing at the hall entrance, one could see a large group of Hogwarts students enter, all pushing a tall, thin Hufflepuff before them, who was clutching a piece of paper. "Ced! Ced! Ced! Ced!..." the group chanted, continuously pushing the boy towards the goblet. Putting the name into said blue burning goblet, he earned himself, similarly to the blond Durmstrang student, thunderous applause by the surrounding Hogwarts students.

The boy, who had made the redhead aware of the entering group, turned back to the other two. "Shouldn't have spoken so soon Ron, my money is on Diggory." he laughed, looking back at the group which was now clearing out of the hall again, still chanting 'Ced!' over and over again.

From behind the three Gryffindors, a pair of twins emerged from the group with large grins plastered over their faces. "You want to bet on that Thomas?" the first said "Because we can offer you some good rates if you enter early enough." the second one continued.

"Go on Dean, back your man up!" one of the students shouted from the back of the group. But it wasn't Dean Thomas who decided to take the twins up on their bet, but rather the Irish boy from before, who quickly pulled out three sickles from his pocket and threw them over to the twins. "Alright Fred, Gorge. I'm putting down three sickles on Johnson."

Fred, or was it Gorge, caught the money while the other was taken notes in a small book he was holding. "Three silvers on Angelina by Finnegan." the one with the book said.

Quickly more and more Hogwarts students looked through their pockets offering a Sickle here a Galleon there for those they believed would be drawn by the cup. It was that, which sparked another discussion on who would represent the other schools that got the Hogwarts students going.

"_Of course _it will be bloody Victor Krum for Durmstrang!" the redhead, which Dean Thomas had before identified as Ron, loudly called out, earning himself a round of agreeing nods.

"That shows just how little you know about our competitors, Weasley!" a cold, yet remarkably familiar voice, called out to the noisy redhead. "It will obviously not be him who will be picked!"

"You sound so sure of that Malfoy." Fred answered for his brother, slightly interested in what the Slytherin had to say, "Maybe you should try and bet on the one you think will be drawn." George insinuated, gesturing to the book in his brother's hands.

"Hmpf, as if I would give any money to you lousy blood traitors." Draco snarled, though quickly being interrupted by the twins again, "Unless of course, you can't afford it -" "- or all just all talk and no meaning like usual."

Draco, who had been about to leave, came to a stop, turning back to the twins before sneering at them and pulling out twenty galleons. "Here, put them down on Adrian Aaronovitch." putting them onto the book before turning around and leaving the hall again, slightly chuckling to himself.  
"Aaronovitch, as in the professor?" Dean asked the students, of which none could answer his question. "Ah, screw it! I'll throw in a Galleon my self, put it on Aaronovitch as well." Dean said, shrugging before looking through his robe pockets before producing said golden coin.

That seemingly had done it again, causing Ron to be thrown into another rant. "What you're trusting that slimy snake over -"

* * *

It was late afternoon, most had cleared the hall already to get themselves freshened up for dinner, as the Triwizard champions would be announced that evening. It was that, that no one saw a seventh year Ravenclaw girl skip down the stairs and enter the great hall, clutching a piece of paper in her hand. She wore her long blond hair in a plait down her back and no pair of shoes.

Luna '_Loony_' Lovegood, who had turned seventeen during the spring that year, entered the age line drawn around the ancient cup before taking the piece of paper that she had carried with her, which contained her own name, into the fire. The goblet lit up blue, as it had done before with the others, signalling the girls' acceptance into the tournament's qualification.

She turned around the same dreamy smile on her face as before, skipping out of the great hall up to the Ravenclaw tower.

* * *

"- Now that we have all eaten our delicious dinner, we come to the part of the day, that left most of you probably in a fever of excitement." Dumbledore loudly announced. The food had already vanished and the students from all three schools patiently sat at their respective house table, or alternatively at any free spot they had found.

"Now without further ado -" the old wizard spoke, a wave of his hand and the open fires which had burned in the fireplaces and floating candles spread over the great hall all dimming down or simply dying out. "- let us see who will represent their school." slowly walking towards the large goblet at the centre of the room, which still was gently burning with a blue flame.

The headmaster gently touched the magical object, causing the flames to lurch out and change their colour from their former blue to an angry crimson red. It took a little while before the goblet spat out its first paper.

A tip of parchment, covered with a fine blue ink writing out the name "Fleur Delacour", Dumbledore loudly announced. The French part veela didn't quite manage to hide the smile that started to grow on her face, her schoolmates loudly applauding her as she stood up and walked up to the headmaster, who pointed her towards the small door at the head of the hall, which lead to the staff room.

In all the hassle, the applause and shouts of encouragement by her schoolmates, Fleur didn't notice the rather worried glance that Harry shot her. His one green eye changing its colour slightly, hinting strongly towards a more bluish tone.

After the French witch had left the room, the attention turned back to the headmaster, who already had pressed his hand against the goblet again.  
Only shortly after a large crimson flame spat out a new parchment, red ink inscribed the name of "Hadrian Aaronovitch".

The Durmstrang students started, similarly to when he had put in his name that very afternoon, chanting and hollering. Everyone stood behind him, as he had expected, yet those who didn't know who he truly was, namely the Hogwarts students and a good few of the Beauxbatons once, seemed to be taken aback by the unity that the students displayed.

He gently rose, fixing his robe and combing through his blonde hair with his hand, before slowly walking towards the old wizard, every step seemed calm, calculated and purposeful. It reminded of his entrance into the great hall a few days back.

The headmaster joyfully offered him his hand to shake, which he, reluctantly so, shook while putting on his best fake smile. He had a strong dislike for the man, given to him by his father. Yet this dislike, maybe even disgust, reflected itself within his eyes, causing them to light up in emerald green. A rather unique colour, people always had told him. And it was truly was, as it was unique enough to spark a hint of recognition to build itself on the old headmasters face.

Realizing his mistake, Hadrian quickly strode towards the staff room to join Fleur in waiting for the last champion. He mentally slapped himself for his stupidity. He had learned to hide his emotions from any who looked him in the eyes perfectly well, but when it truly had mattered, he failed.

Back in the great hall, the students had again refocused on the headmaster, who currently was slightly off-put by the sense of familiarity those eyes had provided him with.

Snapping back to the matter at hand, he quickly cleared his head not letting memories put him of curse now, the headmaster turned back around and placed his hand on the goblet one last time, before it spat out the last name, the name of the last Champion, the Hogwarts champion.

Reading the name of the student, he held in for a second, as he hadn't expected that particular student to be selected for the spot. "The Hogwarts champion is… Miss _Luna Lovegood_".

A deafening silence fell over the hall. It took seconds before they all had realized what had just been said.  
Strangely enough, the Hufflepuffs where the first to start clapping, as said Luna Lovegood rose from her spot at the very end of the Hall. The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors started as she had already made half of the journey towards the headmaster and the Slytherins had remained silent even after she had left the hall to join the other champions in the staffroom.

The few that actually knew Luna Lovegood, would never have expected her to be chosen for the position as school champion. Those that didn't know her, had seen a rather strange girl walk down between the tables towards her headmaster to receive a warm handshake from a slightly perplexed Dumbledore, who to be fair wasn't really showing it as much as others would.

Dumbledore himself, of course, knew the Lovegood family, finding himself enjoying reading their unique newspaper more often than not in recent days. Luna, for one, had average grades. Her defence lacked a bit, yet her knowledge of magical creatures was nearly unmatched by any of the students in Hogwarts. She also possessed a rather grand set of OWL's. Charms and Transfiguration being definitely among her stronger subjects judging by her exams in her fifth year.

As the door slammed shut behind the Ravenclaw girl, he walked back to the front of the Hall, wishing the remaining Students a good night, before sending them back to their respective dorms. While the students were leaving, he and the other headmasters, as well as a few of the teachers, made their way into the staff room, where the Champions would be waiting. Ludo Bagman, out of all of them, seemed the most excited about the selection of Champions, rushing towards the staff door before the headmaster had even finished his speech.

* * *

Fleur heard the footsteps of the next champion walking down the stairwell into the room she currently sat in. She had made herself comfortable, sitting down on the large armchair which had been conveniently placed near the fireplace. She had closed her eyes and let her thoughts run wild for a moment.

_She was Beauxbatons Triwizard Champion.__ SHE!_

It was a remarkable feeling, at least it had been until she heard the steps of the second champion walking down the stairs. She had been so focused on becoming the Beauxbatons champion, so focused on her private dilemmas and problems, that she hadn't done one thing. She hadn't paid mind to who would potentially put their name into the goblet and more importantly who would be selected.

This was the first time she truly had thought about it. While maybe not having a clue who would become Hogwarts champion, realization dawned upon her of whom she would have to face in terms of the Durmstrang Champion.

Fleur slowly rose from her seat, turning towards the entrance, where she met the eyes of none other than Harry Potter, also known as Hadrian Grindelwald, who froze the second his eyes met hers.

* * *

He made slow and steady steps down the stairwell, his thoughts dwelling on his brief interaction with Dumbledore more than on what would be awaiting him at the bottom of these stairs.

The sight that presented itself made him freeze.

Fleur Delacour stood at the centre of the room, an unreadable expression plastered onto her face, dark blue eyes directly meeting his.

As if seeing her for the first time, her beauty stood clear out to him more than ever before. Her fair skin contrasted by the dark blue eyes, silvery-blonde hair, falling down her back ending just above her waist, framing her graceful features. Her light blue uniform pressing tightly against her body, making her womanly curves more apparent. She wore no make-up or something silly like that, not needing it anyway as her natural beauty drew in any who looked at her. She was carrying herself in an elegant manner, befitting of her fathers standing in wizarding France, her stance showed more than just refinement and finesse, it showed security and even the slightest hint of determination.

Her simple presence lightened up the room as if she was emitting a faint, gentle, silvery glow. Suddenly the thoughts of Dumbledore and his little charade was gone into the back of his head, lost in a daze. It wasn't the allure that drew him to her so much, it was what he associated with her that made him lose all sense of etiquette or social norm. A faint melody, played by a violin spread through his mind.

Simply through the direct association with music and the young veela before him, his gaze was caught by something resting on her chest. A familiar medallion connected to a necklace which hung around her neck. Noticing his gaze shifting, she gently raised, absent-mindedly or not, her hand and engulfed the medallion with it.

A sudden warmth spread over his magical core, a gentle tug, a stream that started flowing away from him to her. A silent clicking noise could be heard, as Fleur opened the Medallion which she had pressed against her chest.

A song began emitting from her chest, a familiar melody played by a familiar instrument. A familiar memory from a familiar place. He could feel the room slowly but surely growing colder and darker with every second that the medallion was opened. The only light, her silver glow, the sickening cold, she radiated of warmth. The strong feeling of familiarity that resonated with her grew to him, making him completely numb to his surroundings.

Absent-mindedly, he made a gentle step forward, yet it had been enough to pull them both out of their daze. A silent click and the medallion snapped shut again.

The warmth slowly flowing back into the world, yet it still felt colder than before, the light came back, yet she still shone that bit brighter.

"_I -_" he wanted to say something, yet she beat him to the punch, simply whispering "_thank you_." It had taken some time for him to realize what she meant, why she thanked him.

* * *

_Summer of 1990._

Harry had woken up with a simple goal in mind. He had worked for days, even weeks, on end, crafted careful, yet simple enchantments, engraved runes and made calculations. It had taken him a whole month of work, a simple, yet a quite magical necklace and a beautiful at that but for the occasion far too trivial medallion. It had taken some time to make the necklace do what he wanted and without being able to ask his father, who would anyway demand he would do it himself, it had to remain a secret. The fact that his father couldn't know about his little pet project made it much more difficult to realize. Alone the obtaining of said necklace, an entirely trivial muggle item, had been a pain in the arse. Finding time between his studies of enchanting and ancient runes and the actual course work his father had laid out for him, making it difficult to progress at a more reasonable speed.

But the enhancement of the floating violin, playing his piece of music had been one of the few easy parts. The moving picture, on the other hand, had been a true theft of his time. Half of his available time, he had spent in his pensive finding the perfect memory of the two of them. A magical picture was difficult to create without actual material so he had to hoodwink his pensive.

Without getting lost in details, it had taken quite a toll on his patience, yet in the end, he had managed it, on the very same day he should have delivered his present.

It had already grown dark outside as he had woken up, he had needed the rest, having left him as a dead man walking. He quickly dressed and prepared himself for an unpleasant trip with the Floo Network.

Yet he would take on anything if it allowed him to bring the one girl joy who knew him for him, not for Hadrian or Grindelwald, but for himself. She was the only person still alive who was allowed to use his birth name. Maybe his father, yet he flat out refused to do so. He didn't mind, it was just one more thing that made Fleur Delacour to so much more important to him.

* * *

_Present._

"_Thank you for not forgetting._" Fleur gently whispered again, a small tear rolling down her cheek. Before he could answer her, tell her that '_I never would_', that she was too important to forget, a creaking of wood and the loud metal hinge signalled the last champion entering the ring. Gentle footsteps echoed down the spiral stairwell, gaining now also the attention of the French woman, who had wiped away the tear using her wrist.

Hadrian carefully turned around, eager to get a good look at the last champion, who would be representing Hogwarts in the upcoming tournament. A girl wearing the silver and blue robes of Ravenclaw house appeared from the stair top, most notable her choice of footwear, or lack thereof in this case.

She had waist-length, straggly, dirty blonde hair, protuberant silvery eyes, which seemed to be dreamily distracted, and faint eyebrows. Around her neck, only partly hidden by her school robes, she wore a strange necklace made from Butterbeer corks, her ears were embellished with unique looking earrings made from some for of plum or radish. It was almost as if this girl had strange written all over her, together with an aura of dottiness that emitted from her very being, only being supported by the fact that Hadrian spotted her wand being stuck behind one of her radish earring wearing ears.

She walked with a liberating spring in her walk. While he was not sure if it was due to her nature of being a strange person, by what he had managed to gather of her personality so far simply be looking at her choice of appearance, or if it had been the fact that she had been chosen as Hogwarts champion that elated her so much.

The strange girl came to a stop right before Hadrian, looking up at him, before extending one arm for him to take while introducing herself as _Luna Lovegood_. Carefully accepting the girl's introduction, she walked passed him, familiarizing herself with the French witch before sitting down in the very same seat that had been used by Fleur just minutes ago.

Deciding that, if they had to wait on the headmaster and the others, he would rather sit than standing there, he sat down onto the sofa, blankly staring at the fire, not noticing the veela taking a seat right next to him.

Fleur desperately wanted to continue their 'talk' from before, finally wanting to catch up with her old friend. Yet it seemed as though Harry didn't feel like starting a conversation, at least not if other people were around.

Noting this as something to keep in mind, she would find him at some point. Private enough to spark an open chat with the boy that once had meant so much to her, even if she had to corner him.


	7. The First Task

_**A/N:** Hey guys, been a while. I didn't manage to write as much as I had hoped, so it took some time to get this one out. As most of you can guess, just as your life is probably as well, due to recent increas in Covid-19 cases, my country's government went apeshit crazy. My school is closed for the rest of the month and as of now, I am not even sure I'll finish my education when I had previously planed it. In addition to that I am currently down with the flu, so yeah thats happening. But it gave my some time to write a little, so I guess it isn't that bad._

_I'll try to stick to my word as best as possible, but I can't guarantee anything right now. I don't think I'll manage to get out another chapter before easter holidays, but you never know._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one, its slightly longer than my others and has more action in it._

* * *

_**Chapter Seven**_

_The First Task_

The door of the defence against the dark arts classroom flew open, causing the fourth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins to flinch. The old man, who had been introduced as their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, walked in. His whole appearance basically screamed soldier, as he purposefully strode to the front of the class.

Even in his rather advanced age, Miroslav Aaronovitch presented himself as a tall man, who wouldn't cower before anything. His gaze shifted from student to student, silently evaluating each of his new pupils at face value. He rid himself of his grey robe, still wearing his burgundy suit vest, together with a black shirt, from the evening in the great hall.

Clearing his throat, only swiftly acknowledging the four Durmstrang students who had joined him in his class not really needing to, before turning his attention back to the Hogwarts pupil.

"Well, -" the professor started "- I have taken the liberty to look into your past years of education in this subject. None of you should be surprised to hear me say that it has been a rather… _insufficient _selection of teachers so far." he paused, watching the reactions on the students faces play out, before continuing, "A stuttering _fool_, caught trying to steal from Hogwarts, a self-centred _moron_, who stole the achievements of many witches and wizards and lastly a W_erewolf_, likely the worst of the bunch_._"

At the mentioning of the latter of the three teachers, the reactions which had been partly passive or slightly interested changed drastically. The Slytherins, namely a group of about five fourth years, seemingly found the characteristic amusing, while nearly the entirety of the assembled Gryffindors seemed to take offence at his summary of said teacher.

It came even down to a student, a bushy-haired brunette, getting up and openly defending the mentioned former teacher. "He was the best we had so far, it is completely unfair to have forced him to leave-" said student exclaimed. While still being in upheaval, noticing who had stood up to the teacher caused them to calm down a bit, which in turn seemingly led to said witch losing some of her confidence. That or the fact that now the eyes of everyone, including those of the teacher and the four Durmstrang students, of which one was Bulgarian, world-cup-losing, star seeker Victor Krum and one the Durmstrang champion _Adrian Aaronovitch_.

"If that is the case miss -?" the professor asked with the slightest touch of his accent seeping through onto his otherwise surprisingly clear English. "Granger... _Sir_," she answered, still keeping the pretence of defiance up, having not sat down onto her bench again.

"Vell, Miss Granger." the professor began again. "If it is so unfair, that school didn't wish to see their students mauled to death by an uncontrollable beast, I am sure you are capable to not only use spells so adeptly that you would be able to easily defeat one of my own students in a simple duel.".

While saying that, he waved for the group of students, who had been standing near the entrance of the room, to join him.

Hadrian stepped forward, his self-control hindering his features to show his true emotions, largely amusement, causing him to appear rather emotionless and calm.

"Surely it isn't fair to let a seventeen-year-old duel against a fourth year." one of the Gryffindor girls called out, trying to reason with the professor. "That is the point, Miss -" "Brown." "-Miss Brown, it is a completely unfair match-up judged by pure power alone, not to mention skill and experience." Professor Aaronovitch continued, before turning back to the by now pale, Miss Granger, a smile crept onto his face. "If you, by any chance what so ever, manage to land a hit on my student here, -" he pointed at Hadrian before continuing, "I will not only completely retract my statements about said teacher but also will grant you and your house a hundred points."

Before she could even answer, the professor turned back towards the class and gestured them to create space enough for the two students to cast their spells. While the Gryffindors didn't seem to be happy with the situation, the Slytherins looked rather satisfied, even though the Gryffindors could potentially walk away with a hundred house points.

* * *

Space was cleared and the students stood behind a simple protection charm, which had been drawn by the teacher to make sure no ricocheting spell would accidentally hit one of the students. Hadrian stood opposite to the young, brown-haired girl, who spotted a set of rather prominent rabbitesque teeth. Hadrian seemingly not even paying any real attention, twirling his yew wand between the fingers of his right hand.

Only the signal of the teacher for her to start firing spells at him pulled him back into the real world, even caught off guard by the speed of the first spell, only for a split second though, a simple sidestep did the trick, causing the disarming jinx to slam into the shield charm behind him. A set of stunners followed suit, again at remarkable speed, yet nothing compared to those of any of his mentors or even his companions. He simply battered them away, out of reflex into her general direction, yet never actually aiming to hit her with her own spell.

The girl definitely possessed some potential together with a rather versatile selection of jinxes and other spells, yet it was painfully apparent how outmatched she truly was, even without him ever casting a single actual spell. He always used one of two defences: either a sidestep or a simple deflection, which he achieved by battering the incoming spell at the shield at either of his sides. Beyond that, the spells became repetitive and lacked the creativity of one of Grindelwald's curse-chains.

It took about twenty seconds for him to grow bored, three minutes for him to lose his patience and only three seconds for the girl to be sent sprawling across the floor, after being hit by one of her own knockback jinxes, which he had finally decided to reflect back at her. It was then when the teacher finally lifted the shields and announced the end of the 'duel'.

"Well? Anyone wish to guess why I had Miss _Granger_ go through with this little… _presentation_?" Aaronovitch finally asked as the students returned to their seats. "Yes, miss -?" he pointed at a Slytherin girl, who had raised her hand, "Lestrange, professor. You asked of her to attack a- an object she couldn't possibly damage, same goes for Werewolfs, who are completely immune to magical influence, and only to be killed or even harmed with physical items like - fire and silver." the girl answered quickly, one hand playfully toying with a lock of black hair, her gaze focused on the blond Durmstrang champion.

"Correct, Miss Lestrange, ten points for answering both the question I asked and the one I was going to ask." the professor stated, before turning around to the chalkboard behind him. While charming a piece of chalk to write down a selection of pages, he turned to the class, noting that the Gryffindor Girl seemed to be slightly ill-looking.

"Read and copy the following pages, regarding the combat and containment of a Werewolf, onto your paper, until the end of the lesson. Next lesson we will begin with actual defensive magic." he paused, "Miss Brown, if you would, please escort miss Granger to the school nurse.", waving them both out of the classroom. "I would also like, from every single one of you, a five-foot essay on the use of defensive magic as an offensive tool by Friday.", earning the groans of most students in the classroom.

* * *

The people in the castle would have seen the Durmstrang champion cross the grounds towards the forbidden forest. The animals in the forest, however, saw a large bear trot through the woods, a bear with slightly brighter fur near his head and two uniquely coloured green and blue eyes.

It was a liberating feeling to take a stroll, alone without anyone around to disturb his thinking. The wind rustled through the leaves which hung high above the ground, decorating the treetops. They slowly took on more of a yellowish-orange colour, contrasting the still green leaves rather nicely. Fall had come and was slowly but surely retreating to make way for winter. The first task of the Triwizard tournament would soon take place. And while all three champions truly had no clue of what they had to expect, as it was the nature of the said task to confront the champions with the unknown, he felt greatly confident.

That, at least, lasted until he stumbled upon a rather unique view. Three cages, three dragons and three problems. If he hadn't been in his Animagus form, this would have been one of the rather rare occurrences where he would have lost his cool. The emotions, the thoughts, that were currently dancing around in his head made the whole situation not less of a threat.

The questions in his head started to grow in numbers and complexity. Would he and the other champions have to face off against all three dragons at the same time? Unlikely, it looked more like a task of fighting alone against a dragon, possibly even kill said beast. But the odds of the ministry actually believing that by having three witches and wizards face off against a prehistoric lizard with wings, was supposed to be safer than three hundred years ago were astronomical.

Yet why else would there be exactly three dragons hidden away, deep in a forest from any spying eye, around the same time that three schools, each with a champion tasked with fighting against the unknown?

At closer inspection, Hadrian was even able to spot enough of two of the dragons to identify them as a Chinese Fireball and a Swedish Short-snout. And while the last one was hidden behind a small row of trees, he was certain that the last, and biggest of the three, was a Hebridean Black or at least something very similar. Not that he truly was keen on finding out, at least not without being aware of exploitable weaknesses, something he surely would be looking up in the Hogwarts library once he returned to the castle.

Still remaining in his Animagus form, he cleared the border of the glade, walking deeper into the forest again. He still needed to clear his head, which he could do so easily in the forest, while the library would be filled with students, but the dragons sure hadn't helped.

And so he walked for a good part of an hour, simply taking a breather and enjoying the peace and quiet of the surrounding vegetation. He felt the sticks and leaves break under his steps, felt the gentle breeze blow through his fur and the scent of the forest stick to his nose. But it wasn't just the scent of the woods and trees, no, he could distinctively smell meat. Fresh and raw, even though it lacked the iron like scent of blood.

Hadrian let his animal instincts take over, simply following the path of the scent, which promptly lead him to another occupied clearing in the forest. 'I thought this forest was supposed to be forbidden.' was the only thought which circled around in his head, as he spotted a familiar-looking blonde Ravenclaw girl who appeared to be feeding a selection of Thestrals. Winged horses with a reptile-like head, bat-like wings and a skeletal body, giving them a rather unnatural and, for some unknown reason, even unnerving appearance.

Finally leaving his Animagus form, Hadrian decided to talk to the girl. If only to find out, if she already knew about the dragons, she seemed like an interesting enough person.

It amazed him how the girl managed to survive in the rather hostile environment of the forest. The fact that he had been roaming around in his Animagus form had been his only real protective measurement. And while he may have been instructed by some of the most skilled wizards of their generation, and in the case of his father, among the most skilled of all time, the girl didn't have privy to such training. Yet the cup had chosen her to be a champion for her school. Not wishing to underestimate his opponents, he decided it would be best to assume that she would have an adequate skill set.

"You can see them." while a question, sounding more like a statement, she didn't flinch. His voice penetrated the silence, smooth as silk, dangerous as a serpent, yet lacking the venom. "I think that's rather obvious, isn't it?" Luna softly answered, not even sparing him a glance, while gently stroking the head of a small Thestral foal, which was currently chewing on a piece of meat, the very same that had lured him onto the clearing.

"You aren't as innocent as you appear, Miss Lovegood." Hadrian continued, an intrigued smirk danced over his features, his eyes solely focused on her. "No innocent witch or wizard is able to spot a Thestral, no one who hasn't come face to face with death itself, manifested in its most primal form. _Human, _as -" he stopped, catching himself, he was treading dangerous waters.

For the first time, since he had appeared, she turned around, looking straight at him. Her dreamy grey eyes, an unnerving yet harmless gaze, framed by her dirty-blonde locks. "- as the loss of a loved one corrupts." she continued, a weary smile appeared on her face, not one that reached her eyes. "I have read the book you are quoting, we have a copy here at Hogwarts."

Raising one of his eyebrows, surprised, as he had once again underestimated the girl. "You truly are a unique witch, miss Lovegood. Reading books filled with _darkest _of magic, found in a _schools library_, around such corruptible minds? One would think the headmaster would have you _expelled_." Hadrian, while speaking, gently walked towards the Ravenclaw, his gaze never leaving her face, treading carefully.  
"You claimed I am not what I appear to be, -" Luna answered, her voice unwavering, her glare resolute but her posture remained relaxed. "- yet it is quite clear, that neither are you." This caused Hadrian to stop, his gaze filled with amazement, his hand lightly twitched in the direction of his wand. "Am I now?" he asked, aware of the rather grim situation he found himself in.

As he had stumbled upon this little glade, he had been on his way back to the caste, having cleared most of the path back already. Even before smelling the traitorous scent of the meat, he had felt the wards of the school passing, he had re-entered the school grounds. This, in it of itself not being the problem at hand, it made it rather difficult for him to even remotely dip into his magical power. Each of his spells was so soaked with the immense magical force behind them, they would have made the headmaster instantly aware of the happenings in the forest.

While he couldn't kill the girl, if she truly knew his secret, he could still inflict great pain. Such pain, leaving her to beg for mercy before begging for death. It was the small nagging fear, not present in the forefront of his mind, that led him to pull out his wand. 'if she could know, others could find out_' _he knew that. The thought of that didn't hold a pleasant after-taste. He didn't wish to fail his father's plan, he didn't wish to be the cause of unneeded troubles nor did he wish to be the reason for unwanted attention drawn to Durmstrang.

But it was his, while only swift, indecisiveness that allowed the girl to meet his wand before he was able to regain his cool. "You call me a fraud, yet you are not who you claim to be." the voice of the Lovegood girl rang in his head. "And when I share my observation, I am met with the tip of a wand." Luna only smiled absent-mindedly, giving her the appearance of an airhead, a dreamy girl only focused on the world within her head. Yet her posture seemed so determined, purposeful even, as if she was in control of the situation, the wand only served to underline her presence of mind. It wasn't magical power or spellcraft that allowed her the appearance of control. There were few people matching Hadrian in either, one was his father, one the headmaster and one Tom Riddle himself, his duelling skill was unmatched by any he encountered so far, his power unreachable for any who even dared dream of it.

But the Lovegood girl still seemed, for some reason, in control of the situation he now found himself in. Hadrian knew, of course, that neither pure magical power or duelling capabilities were what made a wizard or witch truly dangerous. Anywho though so were fools.

Yet it wasn't power that put the Ravenclaw girl in charge, it was manipulation. The primal instincts of an animal, the simple-mindedness of his Animagus form dimming his sense of caution, leading him into the trap. The gab of an idiot, sealing the trap shut.

Yet it wasn't the trap that nagged on his conscious. He could fight or even flee if he wished. In that aspect, he was still far superior. She couldn't physically attack him, without endangering herself, no matter her training, he was a duellist, could be a killer and most importantly fought like a warrior.

It was the knowledge, the wish for information, that had led him here. It was the knowledge on her that had lured him, it was the information she posed about him that put her in control. Every information, every rumour, every whisper and moan had a source. He needed her source, sealing the leak, putting all in order. _For the greater good_.

"You tread dangerously, Miss Lovegood, the path you've chosen could lead to consequences that neither of us wishes to endure." his voice calm as ever, the hint of danger ever so present in his words. "What do you know about me?"

Now it was Luna's time to smile, so innocent yet dangerous, vicious even, "I know nothing more than you yourself told me. Actions speak louder than words." she paused, seemingly intensely focused on something on his forehead, "_remarkable_." nothing more than a gentle whisper. Seemingly disregarding every sense of caution she possessed, she stored her wand behind her ear, pulling out a small booklet and an enchanted quill. She didn't seem fazed by the fact that the tip of his wand was still resting inches away from her head, scribbling notes onto a page, looking up at him once or twice, before closing said booklet and storing it, and the quill, back in her bag. It was only, once he met his gaze that time, that he noticed something remarkable. "You're a natural Legilimence." a stunningly rare ability, seemingly perfected to the best of her ability. The Occlumency barriers surrounding his mind, having finally picked up the gentle breeze of magic which had invaded his mind palace, leaving him slightly baffled.

It wasn't that he had not been able to defend his mind at all, otherwise his father, or any other one of his enforcers, would have picked up on the importance that Hadrian put on the young French witch that had been plaguing his mind recently again. It was more the fact that she was a natural in Legilimency, allowing her to bypass non-perfect mind wards, as his own were, with relative ease. The infestation of his mind, discovered by his father many years back, far before he had even enrolled in Durmstrang, disallowed him to perfect his Occlumency training. Legilimency, on the other hand, was far easier to learn, allowing him to actively, or somewhat passively, look into the mind of those surrounding him.

It was the active aspect of Legilimency, the only his father and his teachers possessed, that wasn't able to penetrate his defences, at least not without him knowing. Lovegood, on the other hand, was simply slipping past the walls surrounding his mind, with relative ease, while he wasn't paying attention to his barriers, accessing information that should not fall into the wrong hands.

"So I was told -" Luna simply answered, not wavering under the inquisitive stare of her opponent, gently smiling. "- not only by my mother." her smile faded into nothing, her features taking on a slight sour tint. "She is also the reason why I am able to see _them_." nodding slightly into the general direction of the Thestral herd. "She died many years ago, I was very young back then. I don't remember much. Not of her, at least." her gaze slowly sunk, seemingly lost in her thoughts, still paying no singular thought towards the yew wand pointed at her chest.

This girl was a conundrum to him. One that his father would see as a valuable ally, yet on that could just as easily turn out to be a thorn in his side. Disposing of the girl was, and would be, virtually impossible while the two of them remained on the school grounds. Not to mention the fact that she was the current Hogwarts champion, representing said school in the Triwizard tournament.

No, he couldn't get rid of her. But if she would willingly join him and his father at the end of the year, then maybe he could be lenient with the possible threat. Maybe, just maybe, the tournament itself would prove fatal to the Hogwarts student, in which case the problem would have solved itself, leaving both him and his father without risk.

"Ravenclaws are supposed to be the smart ones, aren't they?" the rhetorical question hung in the air, having left his lips, expecting no answer. "Well, tell me, what do you think I should do with you now?"

She hesitantly took a gentle step backwards. The balance had changed, their encounter slipped out of her control, and she felt the switch. "What would you do in my place, _Luna Lovegood?_" he asked, the menacing undertone didn't escape the Ravenclaw girl.

It took a few seconds for her to regain her wits, a gentle smile, one that didn't reach her eyes, spread on her features. "I would bind you, _Harry Potter!_"

* * *

"Now as you _three_ know, -" the old headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, spoke cheerfully "- the first task of the Triwizard tournament will be taking place tomorrow."

The three champions stood still, listening closely to the words of the ancient wizard. Hadrian found himself in a small, by the looks of it almost abandoned, classroom that was filled with way to many people. On one hand, the three headmasters and their champions, at the head of the room. An old-looking, somewhat pale and glassy-eyed man with just as pale skin and unkempt silvery hair stood by a small table, possibly where the teacher's podium used to be.

Then there was a selection of press people, constantly taking notes and photos, being a general annoyance to anyone in said classroom. A couple of teachers, ones who either had arrived with the other schools, like Aaronovitch _senior_, or those who currently didn't have a class to teach, namely the bat-like potions master Severus Snape and the charms and duelling master, one who Hadrian was most anxious to get the chance to duel against, _Filius Flitwick_. Who also happened to be the headteacher of Ravenclaw, and thus Luna Lovegood possibly more than just _indirect_ mentor.

But, by far, the most annoying person in the entire room, a woman seemingly entirely dressed in the most obnoxious colours a witch could hope to acquire without leaving for an actual _muggle_ clothing store. Her name was Rita Skeeter, a scandal-mongering, _venomous_, trash-piece newspaper author. It was probably less the fact of her presence that annoyed him so much, but much rather her constant chiming in, trying to question the three champions.

He had little time to review the newspaper here in England, only a quick skim at the breakfast table of the _Daily Prophet_ for information on his father's actions on the continent. Not that he didn't know what his father was up to, he was constantly kept in the loop by either his father himself or one of the many advisers and lieutenants he surrounded himself with. No, he looked for information that the newspapers thought they possessed. 'The less the better' he thought to himself, knowing all to well that they couldn't hide forever. But every second counted when moving against, without discussion, two of the greatest and most powerful wizards of the past few centuries.

But it was during that time, while searching for scraps of misinformation in said paper, that he found _multiple _articles written by the very same Rita Skeeter who currently found herself in the classroom. Only having read a few, he came to the conclusion that she not only was a horrifyingly well-informed journalist, but she also loved to publish glorious misinformation and sell them as news and sometimes even as facts.

It was only that, after having a chat with local boot liker and slimeball Draco Malfoy, he realised that this woman seemingly had a dedicated readership, who in turn scooped up the things she published and regarded them as gospel, believing every single word she said. The worst part of it though, like the cherry on the icing of the cake, said readership did not only increase by the day, it was also horrifyingly large, including some rather well known and even some highly influential people.

Hadrian knew, not wanting to cast a negative light on himself, that he would have to tread carefully around the tabloid reporter. Especially with her talents in knowing things that she seemingly shouldn't know or twisting words in peoples mouths to fit her narrative. Of course, a person with her talent could help them definitely, but he suspected that a reporter of her calibre, be that good or bad, have no true loyalties.

The old man at the table, Garrick Olivander as he had learned, being not the first time having heard of him, remembering Gregorovitch talking about him once before, one of the most famous wandmakers in the entirety of the wizarding world, having a reputation matching that of late Gregorovitch to a tee, had been solely fixated on the three champions. He wore a rather unsettling glare, one that could pierce one's very soul, which gave him, additionally to his already strange make-up, a completely new dimension of an ominous appearance.

"We will now begin the wand weighing." Dumbledore loudly announced, letting the gaze of the room shift to the old wandmaker, who, for the first time since arriving, finally took his eyes of the champions and seemingly only now noticed the other occupants of the room. Namely the present teachers and headmasters, gracefully ignoring the assembled press.

"Right, -" he began, "- please miss Lovegood, do step forward." a strange smile appearing on his face. Luna did as she was told, stepping forward, seemingly not intimidated by the air of the old man, which was only explainable by her having purchased the very same wand the old wandmaker was currently holding from him. "Acacia, elven and three-quarter inches, unicorn hair core, remarkably springy and most importantly, in perfect condition." The wandmaker concluded, turning a nearby chair into a vase and transfiguring it back, before returning it to Luna. "A wand for a lifetime miss Lovegood, as I said to you all those years ago, take good care of it, as you did already, and it will allow you to perform magic, that some will only dream of while remaining loyal to the bitter end."

Having read a few books on wand lore himself, a few even published by the Olivander family, Hadrian knew all too well about the properties of an Acacia wand, loyal to their first owner, allowing to cast powerful spells with grace and force. The Unicorn hair core reflected the exact same traits, a rather unique match.

"Miss Delacour now please, your wand if you would be so kind." Olivander turned his attention to the French witch, who had been blissfully ignorant of his very existence since Hadrian had entered the room. After all, there were three of Grindelwald's most trusted lieutenants present, as well as a selection of press people and… _other_ people with dubious loyalties.

A slender piece of wood was produced and carefully placed in the old hand of the wandmaker, allowing him to inspect the wand for himself. "hm… _Interesting, _Yes, nine and a half inches... inflexible.. rosewood... and containing... dear me -" Fleur, confirming the wizard's inquiry with a gentle nod, seemingly hyper-aware of every movement made with her wand, as if the old man would break it into two any second now. "An 'air from ze 'ead of a veela. One of my grandmuzzer's." her accent especially thick, only underlining her nervousness.  
With a gentle flick of the wrist, Olivander caused the tip of the wand to turn into a set of conjured flowers, testing, as he had before, if it could produce magic without problems, and placing it back into Fleur's waiting hand. "Unique, miss Delacour, and temperamental. Difficult to control and rarely produces consistent magic to those who do not." he said, before dismissing her with a simple swish of his hand, turning his attention now to the last remaining champion. Hadrian himself.

Without waiting to be called up, he confidently stepped up, pulling his wand from his sleeve and holding its handle towards the wandmaker. Olivander hesitated for a second, looking straight into the eyes of the seventeen-year-old wizard, before reaching out to take the wand. But before his hands could close around the handle, Hadrian pulled the wand back, not entirely out of reach, yet far enough to stop the wandmaker from gripping said wand, leading him to hold in. "Careful_, _It's quite _hot_."

This caused Olivander to retract his hand and carefully assess the properties of the wand from eyes measure without touching it. It wasn't the first wand that bounded so strongly with its owner that touching it would lead to severe burns or other magically inflicted harm, not rarely permanent. "Quite so, -" Olivander spoke slowly, carefully measuring up the young wizard's wand, "- Yew wood! Fourteen and a quarter inches. I'm guessing rigid?" only receiving a nod of confirmation. "And the core, my boy?" Olivander asked, slight excitement in his voice. He had already recognized the work of Gregorovitch, but the core he didn't recognize. "Chimera scale."

* * *

The tent placed near the arena was decorated to make the inhabitants feel slightly more comfortable. A small table at the centre of the small room with a plate of snacks for those who felt peckish, yet somehow, faced with a near-death experience, the hunger didn't quite set in for either of the three champions.

Fleur felt sick to her stomach, an uneasy feeling was a constant companion since the wand weighing ceremony, she nervously held her wand close to her chest while her other hand toyed with a lock of hair that had fallen over her pale face.

Hadrian paced up and down the tent, for the first time in a long while actually showing nervousness. He knew he was a superior duellist, not for nothing, as he had been one of the students send to represent Durmstrang in the upcoming duelling competition held as part of the Triwizard tournament. Yet, he was still unsure of what to expect exactly of this tournament task. Would they have to fight all three dragons at the same time? Would they be competing against both each other and the dragons at the same time? He couldn't be sure.

Luna Lovegood was completely at peace and, just like the other two, she already knew what was about to unfold, but, again as the other two as well, she had no idea at what their task possibly could entail. And while that did manage to make her nervous, she, in contrast to her two competing counterparts, did well to hide her true feelings behind a barrier of stone-faced impassiveness that would even make Hadrian's old man proud.

At closer inspection of her two co-champions, Hadrian definitely seemed to be the more dangerous out of the two. A highly skilled and completely intransparent wizard with an intimidating aura that oozed and dripped of dark and powerful magic. Similar to her, he masked his features quite perfectly, yet the pacing around did little to actually hide his insecurity. It was rare for a wizard to be forced to come face to face with a dragon nowadays and those who did rarely survived to tell the tale.

It wasn't that what made either of the champions unsure of themselves. All three were more than capable wizards and witches, all in capacities unknown to the others, leaving all three of them slightly confident to have an edge on their competition. But none of them knew the true extent of the power of the others. Fleur probably had a good guess of the leagues of magic that Harry surpassed her by, but the _Lovegood girl_ was an unknown variable in a possible match-up of the three wizards to her.

Same went for Hadrian, while he had no real pointers to judge Fleur by, he could fairly well guess the proficiency of the young witch. Luna, on the other hand, was a wild card, but he was able to deduce a bit about her magical prowess by her way of preparation and knowledge of subjects a seventeen-year-old Hogwarts student shouldn't, and rarely ever could, know about.

The tent flap brushed open, letting in, together with a selection of different teachers, officials and headmasters, the thunderous sounds of the crowd that had assembled itself on the ranks of the arena. Albus Dumbledore, who stood next to Barty Crouch Sr, was flanked on his right side by a greasy looking, crook nosed, oily haired man who wore dark robes that seemed to accentuate his every move. Along with him, Hadrian spotted both Aaronovitch and Karkaroff, who stood opposite to the man introduced as _Bagman _at the first feast the school had shared at Hogwarts. As always, in the corner lurking with her magical feather drawn, stood Rita Skeeter, waiting for a beautiful scandalmonger article to write itself for her, which she then could feed to her audience of lapdogs.

"Good day champions -" Dumbledore drew the attention of the present people on him, "- gather 'round, please. Now you've waited, you've wondered and at last, the moment has arrived. The moment only the three of you could fully appreciate."

The old man held in, as if to say something else, but shrugged and turned to the head of international magical cooperation. "Barty, the bag!"

And with that, the grey-haired man took a step forward and ordered the three champions the form a half-circle before him. A thick leather bag, roughly the size of a Quaffle and a half, rested in his left hand, tightly pressed to his body. Little screeches could be heard emanating from the bag as if there were some rather angry mice crossed with mandrakes trapped in there.

Pulling, pushing and shoving the champions into a position that seemed to fit the old man well enough, the headmasters took their places behind their respective champions and waited for the continuation. Without explaining anything further, Crouch held the bag in front of Fleur, gesturing for her to reach into it.

With a small yelp and some angry hissing, Fleur produced a miniature version of a Chinese Fireball, or more particularly, the very same Hadrian had seen in the forbidden forest. "The Chinese fireball. _Ouch_" Bagman commented over the shoulder of Crouch, who completely ignored him. Turning to Luna, the procedure was repeated, a yelp, a hiss and a miniature fire-spitting beast, representing a Swedish short snout, rested on the palm of the Hogwarts champion.

"And that only leaves -" Crouch turned to Hadrian, stone-cold features and dead eyes, the bag opening presenting itself to the Durmstrang champion. "- the _Hebridean Black_." Crouch announced as Hadrian produced the four-legged dragon. All three of the dragons Hadrian had already seen in the forest, making that part of the task rather unsurprising to any of the three champions.

"_These_ represent four very real dragons -" Crouch began explaining "- each of which has been given a golden egg to protect." he paused, letting his words sink in. "Your objective is simple. _Collect the egg!_" he again paused, which only seemed to serve dramatical effect as well as elongating the whole matter needlessly. "This you must do, for each of the eggs contains a clue, without which you cannot hope to proceed to the next task."

"Any questions?" Bagman asked, his seemingly frivolous nature taken down a few notches, appearing slightly more serious than usual. "Very well. Good luck champions." Dumbledore finished off to the round, turning to Luna with a stern look, "Miss Lovegood, once the cannon sounds, pro-" a loud bang tore through his sentence and the first task of the Triwizard tournament had begun.

* * *

Thunderous Applause rolled over the Hogwarts champion, as she stepped out of the tent. Luna's gaze wandered over the area, looking for both the dragon and the egg, which spread before her. The rocky ground, a few larger boulders allowing her to seek cover, was limited by the high stands on which the combined student body of Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons found a seat.

It took a few seconds for her to locate the gigantic lizard, who seemingly had found a niche between a couple of the larger boulders, and was adamant in protecting the eggs that had been bestowed upon it. Some of which actually may have been theirs, which would make the whole ordeal a lot less pleasant for her.

With a vice-like grip around her wand, her knuckles had long since turned white, and the beating of her racing heart in her ears she slowly made her way from the entrance of the tent, trying to avoid the lizard's attention, to one of the boulders that rested near the exit.

It took about five minutes to cover half of the distance to the dragon, who was yet to spot or smell her, in which she sneaked from boulder to boulder as quietly as possible. Her wand constantly at the ready, at least two or three routes planned out in her head. Over the past few days and weeks, she had spent almost all her free time working on her knowledge of the beasts that she had spotted in the forest. The three dragons all had their decisive weaknesses, most of them though far less well documented then who they appear from afar. It isn't difficult to guess why. Most of them weren't easily exploitable in combination with the sheer rarity of dragons being found out in the wilderness. And those who managed to spot said dragons rarely were both lucky enough to survive said encounter and then publish in a book.

Her dragon, the Swedish short snout, could, for example, produce a flame hot enough to reduce anything to molten remains short of steel or stone. On the upside, it wasn't as lethal as any other dragon, which, to be fair, was due to it being nothing short of a recluse, living deep in the wilderness and uninhabitable territory, and it also wasn't the brightest of dragons.

Luna planed to sneak as closely as possible, a scent masking charm, not a good one by any marks, applied to her, before she would transfigure a few of the boulders into something, preferably an animal, which would lure the Dragon out of its nest and allow her to slip in and snatch up the golden egg. It was the way back, with the golden egg, she was fearing. No matter how dull the Dragon may be, it would sooner or later retreat to its nest to continue protecting its eggs, at which point it would notice that one of them was missing, sending it into a fierce rage. Should she, by that point, not have fled the scene, the dragon would most likely make her way to the exit of the pit to some of the most unpleasant minutes of her life, to put it lightly.

This, of course, meant that there was a noticeable uncertainty in the way she moved. Her wand movements lacked the usual grace she led them with and thus the charms and transfigurations that escaped the piece of Acacia wood calmed in her hand lacked greatly in not only efficiency but also strength. The scent masking charm, which she had applied as soon as she had set foot onto the rocky arena floor, was on the brink of utter collapse. So, to no real surprise, it took seconds for the gigantic beast to become aware of an imminent threat, thus forcing Luna to slightly change her plans.

Pointing her wand at a bolder on the opposite side of the arena, Luna tried to transfigure it into a sheep, but due to her uncertainty, she only managed to shape the rock into a near-perfect statue of a sheep. Repeating the process, this time with a different rock slightly closer to her and a different animal, Luna began to panic slightly. This time the rock, which she tried to transfigure into a cow, managed to both take the form of her chosen animal and become animate, yet it neither moved beyond standing around idle and it didn't emit the needed scent to throw off the dragon, who, by now, had become riled up and had become fully aware of the young Ravenclaw witch that was in close proximity to its eggs.

A deafening roar boomed across the arena floor, the surrounding student body, hidden behind a nose cancelling charm as not to agitate or irritate any of the dragons or champions within the arena grounds, slowly became more and more aware of the situation that was unfolding before themselves. The wind whirled up and catapulted into all directions, that was created by the mighty wings of the dragon, flung tiny rocks and pebbles into the air, a fair few striking the young Hogwarts champion with more and some with a good bit less force than others.

Desperately almost, Luna clung to her wand, going in for her third, and judging by the raucous that the dragon caused last, an attempt at transfiguring a near boulder into an animal, by now simply survive as long as possible. Her desperation, her almost helplessness and fearfulness had made her intent and, surprisingly, focus reach new levels. This time, the transfiguration succeeded, changing the nearest boulder into a large, animate horse, which managed to give off, together with its rather striking appearance which strongly contrasted the rocky floor it stood on, an intense enough scent to draw the attention of the dragon. Sensing the danger the former-boulder-horse was in, it quickly turned and speed of into the opposite direction, giving Luna enough time to reapply a better scent masking charm, as well as an opening to make a run for the egg nest.

The near gut-busting scream of the slaughtered horse, drowned in an ear-shattering roar from the dragon as it spat its flames, killing the horse in seconds, didn't hinder Luna in her sprint for the egg. She was, maybe a good twenty meters away, as she felt the little hairs on her neck stand up suddenly. Taking this as her instincts giving her a signal, Luna flung herself behind the nearest boulder, just in time for a wave of flames to roll over the spot she had been on mere seconds before. The air was hot and the bolder she was sitting behind was on the brink of being straight-up melted by the fire-spitting lizard on the opposite side. She was sweating, strings of her blond hair had fallen out of her ponytail and clung to the side of her face, her uniform that was crested by the school's insignia clung to her tightly. She had stones in her boots and scratches all over her body, the smell of burned clothes hinted at the fact that she hadn't been as successful in avoiding the fire blast as she had thought.

'One last deep breath', Luna thought to herself, bracing for the last few meters of her sprint. Something along those lines seemingly had gotten through the head of the dragon, who had taken it upon himself to dispose of the failed cow transfiguration while she had gathered her wits, as it flew directly above her once she had started running from her hiding spot. Another wave of fire washed passed her, only missing her by hairs width, and only because she had managed to spot the dragon and had flung a curse up at the flying beast before it had the chance to annihilate the latest Hogwarts champion.  
It took Luna seconds to cover the remaining few meters, almost jumping the last few to touch the golden egg. Yet the task wasn't over. Clinging close to her new possession, Luna got up and turned to look over to the exit of the arena. The second she had taken her first step towards the exit, the large lizard landed right in-between Luna and her way out of the pit with a deafening roar.

In a last-ditch effort to finish the task, Luna began a mad dash towards the dragon, flinging some of the smaller stones at the dragon, all the while dodging the fire bursts by flinging herself behind the larger rocks, before, again, dashing towards the exit and flinging tocks at the dragon. At one point she even began transfiguring some of the smaller rocks into arrows, yet it seemingly had little to no effect.

Almost by sheer luck, the dragon took flight again, allowing Luna to cross the last few dozen meters to the entry of the arena. The second she stepped out of the pit, a tall red-haired wizard stormed past her onto the rocky floor with his wand drawn. She would later find out that it had been a dragon tamer, who was supposed to, together with others who had seemingly entered from other entry points to the pit, calm down the dragon.

For the first time, since entering the arena and passing through the silencing ward, she heard the crowd cheer. A memory, even if only a tainted one due to her passing out only seconds later, to which she would think back years after with a gentle smile on her face. For the first time in her seven years of school, it wasn't just one or two people who truly looked at her, but the whole school and then some, who cheered her name, chanted the school hymn and laughed with her, not at her.

* * *

The second cannon blast pulled Fleur out of her musings. It signalled the French witch that it was her time to step into the pit. With hesitation and even some reluctance, she tore her gaze from the miniature dragon. Harry waited at the entry of the tent, holding the flap open for her, a sad smile graced his features. Before stepping out, she quickly rested her head on his chest in a warm embrace. "_Good luck!_" he whispered into her ear, and before she knew what had happened, her feet had carried her out into the open, her wand tightly pressed into her palm.

The arena pit was slightly different from the first one. While still being filled with large rocks and boulders, there were also a few dead trees and even a few puddles of water here and there. The formerly rocky ground now spotted a dried and dead meadow, yellow grass and dead bushes, reminding the onlookers of a savannah floor. In the very centre of the arena, surrounded by massive almost wall of boulders, creating a circle like a sanctuary. It somehow had a close resemblance to Stonehenge, allowing Fleur to spot the mighty dragon protecting its eggs. The Chinese Fireball had scarlet coloured smooth scales and a fringe of golden spikes around its head. Bright yellow eyes roamed the area, having yet to pick out the Beauxbatons Champion from the boulders. It was about ten meters long and had, seemingly only two legs.

Fleur remembered reading that the Chinese Lion dragon was extremely dangerous, not only because of its aggressive nature but also because, unlike the other two dragons, this sub-species of dragon specialized in hunting down humans for food. It was, by far, the worst dragon she could have picked.

Yet, the young French Champion had a good idea of how to deal with said lizard problem. And while she may not be the master duellist Harry was, she was fairly usable with enchanting and charming. Her strength in potions wasn't going to help her here.

Her plan was simple: she would sneak close to the dragon, without gaining its attention for as long as possible, which was the reason why she currently was hiding behind a massive boulder, and she would try to bind it before charming it to sleep. Alternatives would be: trying to keep it grounded and flinging rocks at it while also grabbing the egg and fleeing with as much grace as possible. Or she could try to kill it, which she doubted she could pull off.

So, for the second time that day, the crowd witnessed a slow and steady approach to the goal. Sneaking from boulder to boulder, a scent masking charm applied, though a far superior one to that of the Hogwarts champion, and a notice-me-not charm, as to not garner the attention of the beast. All of the judges, as well as the crowd, was unaffected by the charm, another tweak in the protective barrier around the stands. All of her expertly applied charms and enchantments meant that she was far quicker in crossing the distance to the dragons den than her Hogwarts competitor. Once she was about twenty meters away from the nest, she dropped all of her charms, making herself ready to be spotted at any moment. It took the dragon only a few seconds before it realized what had so readily found its way directly to him. With a loud roar, the beast pushed multiple of the boulders to the side, as if they were little more than branches half-heartedly stuck into wet soil. Slowly making its way towards the Beauxbatons Champion, the dragon seemingly gently pulled his head back, getting himself ready to spew one of its mushroom-shaped flame bursts. Seizing the moment, Fleur began to _sing_.

It was a rather strange sight to behold to any of the people in the crowd, but it showed an effect. Fleur had drained a bit of her magic into her voice, a transfer which gave her quite the headache along with the first signs of magical exhaustion, managed to cause sings of hesitation in the aggressive Liondragon. It didn't last quite as long as she had hoped, yet she had managed to achieve a good bit of progress. Noticing that the dragon still planed on burning her into what could only be considered a pile of ashes, she summoned one of the near boulders as a shield, flinging it back at the scarlet beast. But it was to no avail, the dragon had already taken flight and was far to quick to be simply hit by a flying boulder.

Beginning again, Fleur sang the dragon a sweet lullaby, her voice magically enchanted and magnified. Her head was hammering like a horde of centaurs rummaging through her very brain, trying out tap dancing and jumping on the spot.

It took a few minutes of repeating the process over and over again. She would begin singing, always draining herself and the dragon more and more of their energy. The dragon would notice the effect she was having on it and would try to free itself from the trance-like state it was trapped in. The veela blood that pumped through her veins allowed Fleur to put more and more magic into her voice, coaxing the dragon to stop fighting her and rest for a while. Then it would spew flames, she would either avoid the rapidly becoming less and less both accurate and dangerous bursts or simply hide behind a near boulder, deciding that summoning one would only drain her much needed magic more. After minutes, the dragon finally landed again, roaring defiantly one last time, before its body collapsed under its own weight and it would fall into comatose slumber. Fleur almost didn't manage to stand up straight. The signs magical exhaustion becoming more and more apparent by the second. With her last grace, she managed to walk over into the nest and cling tight to the golden egg, the walk out of the arena was accompanied by extreme pain in her legs and head, nearly rendering her unable to walk in a straight line.

The school nurse quickly wrapped her up in a blanket, pulling her into the medical tent which had been stationed near the exit of the pit. The dragon handlers rushed into the arena, accompanied by the applause and voices of the surrounding school populous, a sound she only now had realised had been drowned out by the wards sounding the arena. She was being led to a small bed in one corner of the medical tent, a pain relive potion was pressed into her hand and the words "try to stay awake" were uttered to her. Only minutes later, the third and final canon blast echoed through the Scottish landscape, announcing _The Son of Grindelwald_ to an arena of people, who knew him by a different name.

* * *

Hadrian slowly passed through the tent opening. The third canon blast had announced his turn, the yew wand rested loosely in his hand. He radiated of an aura of confidence, the swagger in his walk only accentuating this, but his glowing eyes carefully roamed the rocky surface for his prey.

In contrast to his opposition, Hadrian was a skilled fighter with duelling experience. He had been taken on the hunt once or twice when he was younger by the father of Fleur, who had taken it upon himself to treat him as something of a son. He had, after all, spend quite a long time in his 'childhood' at the Delacour home.

But back then he had hunted with a crossbow and it was deer not dragons, a quality he seemingly shared with his _prey_. His plan was slightly different than those of his fellow co-champions. With a, what appeared to be, leisurely stroll toward the centre of the pit, he slowly turned more and more of the boulders, that had been presented as an aid in shielding against the dragon fire, into medieval weapons like ballistas and trebuchets. A few enchantments changed a couple of the slightly smaller rocks into a long, thick, heavy steel chain, which he planned to use to tie the dragon down to the floor if the need arose.

His plan was to try to avoid killing the dragon. It wouldn't have been the most difficult task for him, even if he respected the strength of those beasts, a duel against Grindelwald or his enforcers usually was far more daring then against a mere dragon. Killing the dragon would most likely not come across as an intelligent strategy, especially because Dumbledore himself was sitting in the loges along with the other judges.

The medieval siege weapons would keep the dragon more mobile, giving it less time to charge straight at him or spew fire into his general direction.

But, just as with the other two champions before, his plan had a flaw. If the dragon were to simply destroy his weapons, or alternatively avoid taking to the sky, it would force Hadrian into action. The challenge, same with duelling against a master of defensive spells, would be to crack open its defences, its magic absorbent scales and quick reflexes. Its size of roughly 38 ft, making it easily one of the largest ones of its kind, hid the extreme agility of the Hebridean Black. It's sheer aggressive nature and territorial pride made it probably nearly just as dangerous as the Chinese Liondragon. The difference being, besides in its clear optical contrast, thick black scales with brilliant purple eyes and bat-like wings crowned by a ridge along its back down to its tail which was tipped with an arrow-shaped spike, its taste in prey. The Liondragon preferred humans and other mammals, while the Hebridean Black was merely interested in deer and the occasional cattle.

Not having masked his scent as the other champions had done, to lure the dragon out of its nest, the dragon spotted him faster then his peers had done. The deafening roar, accompanied by a thick black stream of fire, blasted from its cave-like nest into Hadrian's general direction. Loud steps announced the movement of the dragon, seconds later accompanied by, not only another roar but also its head peeking out of its hiding spot.

Summoning the nearest boulder, Hadrian banished it against the dragon, which caused it to be reduced to molten rocks harmlessly splashing against the uneven arena ground. Accompanied by the first crack, a large bolt shot from the nearest trebuchet against the dragons scaly neck. With a loud thunk, it connected and cracked into two before falling harmlessly to the ground, doing nothing more than to lightly irritate and largely agitate the winged lizard.

With a flick of his wand, he ordered the transfigured siege weapons to fire onto the dragon, a gentle smile appearing on Hadrian's face. Unlike both Fleur and Luna, his magical core was hardly scraped by the whole theatre, his superior stamina coming not only from the endless duelling sessions with his father or his followers. He, of course, knew that those weapons were not going to be effective against the large dragon, yet it wasn't his plan to kill the lizard. He only needed it to move from the cave before driving it to the opposite side of the pit, allowing him to take the egg and leave.

Though his plan was shattered only seconds later, as the dragon had grown tired of the minor inconvenience that the siege weapons produced. With a tidal wave of black flame, the dragon flooded a great part of the arena with his deadly fire. Hadrian, not having foreseen the dragon to do exactly that, had managed to fling himself behind the nearest boulder, only to realise that he probably should climb up the rock before it was enclosed by the flames in its entirety.

For the crowd, it must have been something of legends. The second the black fire had enclosed the boulders and siege weapons the people had grown quite. For a couple of seconds, nothing had moved, the part of the arena pit that was before crossed by the Durmstrang Champion was flooded in its entirety with no sign of Hadrian. Karkaroff had jumped up, an uncharacteristic look of concern washed over his features, quickly followed by '_Madame Claire De Lune_', the headmistress of Beauxbatons, forgetting her position for a couple of seconds. Then a hand had emerged onto one of the few rocks that had still towered out from above the sea of flames, followed by an arm and head before the rest of the body of Hadrian came into view. Trying to dust off his robes as graceful as possible, he shot the large dragon a glance. It had, by now, emerged from the cave in its entirety, a full thirty-eight feet, or roughly eleven-and-a-half meters, long. Its wings were spread as it waded through its own fire, completely unaffected by the magical flames, a threatening growl emerged from its snout as it spotted him.

Just as hid father had told him, Hadrian stood tall, his wand drawn and pointed at the enemy, ready to fling a curse at the winged bastard. He was annoyed, his plan had failed. As usual, his short-sightedness had cost him valuable time and magic, not that he could have easily foreseen that the dragon would simply spew a lake's worth of fire, oddly reminiscent of muggle napalm just in black, destroying nearly every single enchantment and transfiguration he had build up.

It was at that moment, that realised that the enchantments and the transfiguration of the heavy steel chains still drew magic from his core. With another flick of his wand, the summoned the chains from the sea of fire, which emerged from the flames behind the dragon, seemingly burning and dripping with molten rocks. Hesitating only a mere couple seconds, Hadrian remembered reading that the Hebridean Black was protected from its own fire and flame only in the areas its scales covered it, this naturally excluded its wings.

With a malicious grin, which he only managed to hide rather poorly, he summoned the burning chains into his general direction, making sure they would penetrate its wings was broadly and painfully as possible, before repeating the same with the other wing by banishing it back towards the dragon. After the last chain link had passed through the leathery wings of the dragon, Hadrian ordered the chain to wrap itself around the dragon's body, like a snake, and pulling it down into the burning sea.

This succeeded at first, the angry roars of the dragon, mixed with the agony and rage of begin maimed by the chain, accompanied it in finally breaking the enchantments of the chain and causing it to fall, separated into its links, which slowly turned back into rocks and boulders as the transfiguration began to wear off, into the burning sea bellow. Unable to take off now, due to the holes in its wings, the dragon angrily turned to Hadrian who, still, stood proudly on top of his boulder.

But he didn't give the beast time to spew its deadly flames against him, a whip-like movement with his wand and a, to Krum and his companions all to familiar spell, left the tip of the yew wood. A dark black lighting, shot with the force of a dozen natural ones, accompanied by a deafening thunder that made the dragons roars seem like sensual bedside whispers, was flung at the lizard, hitting its head, which was just as black.

The force of that spell caused the dragon to be thrown a couple dozen feet back, while a part of the spell had disintegrated a chunk of its snout and cheek, losing an eye and about half a dozen of the horns attached to its head, while also partly being caught by the protective scales of the beast. A third bit of the lightning, having ricocheted from the scales, was flung towards the protective barriers that surrounded the viewing areas, more specifically the part that housed the judges and teachers.

As soon as the spell, now far less powerful then as it had hit the dragon, connected with the barrier, the entire shield collapsed, managing to absorb the blast of the spell completely. The sudden screams and yelps of hundreds of students seemed to not only disorient the dragon but also draw its attention, turning its head towards the nearest podium, filled with sixth and seventh year Hogwarts students, leaving its damaged part of the head open to an attack from the Durmstrang Champion.

As the dragon was about to spew a wave of flame against the body of students, a purple bolt connected with its head, the surrounding neck and head scales having been torn off by the blast of the spell that had hit it before, causing the dragon to roar out in pain, missing the fire podiums and spitting its deadly fire high into the air.

The lizard turned its attention to the lone wizard that defiantly stood on the boulder a few dozen meters away. A nasty roar escaped its crippled snout, gurgling sounds of black blood dripping from its face, disintegrating the second it touched the black flames hissing angrily. Hadrian readied himself to throw another spell, yet the dragon, this time faster, didn't leave him an opportunity. Using its crippled wings, the dragon flung the black fire high into the air, creating a tidal wave half a dozen times higher than the tallest boulder in the arena.

Similar to a storm surge, the fire was drained from the floor of the arena, leaving the already quickly shrunken base of Hadrian's boulder open to the defiled molten wasteland that used to be the arena floor open. The last thing Hadrian saw before he was covered by the black fire, was the last remaining purple eye of the dragon.

He had no time to think, with an attempt to local Apparition, Hadrian raised his wand skyward, only to feel a strongly suppressing presence of a protective ward covering the school grounds, forcing him to remain rooted on the spot. He had mere seconds before the tidal wave would hit his boulder, consuming it and him with it, as if he was a small pebble in the rising waters of the ocean. In a last-ditch effort, Hadrian threw up the first protective ward that came to mind. Closing his eyes, he held his wand with both hands straight forward, just as if it was an umbrella used to protect him from a strong gust of wind, one foot behind the other, steadying himself for impact. The second Hadrian felt the fire connect with his shield, he felt an immense drain on his magic, the likes he had never felt before. The heat was unbearable, while the shield seemed to take the most of it, it still created a temperature quickly nearing the absolute limit of human tolerance. To add to that, the stone under Hadrian's feet grew exponentially hotter by the second. Feeling his skin prick and his blood boil, he was sure that only a couple seconds more of magic could be pumped into his shield before it would collapse and engulf him and flames. He was surely surprised that his very own protective ward managed to withstand dragon fire, even if it wasn't created to do so.  
The time went on in slow motion, he felt like he had been holding the shield form minutes, while only actually being exposed to the dragon fire for a couple of seconds. Just as his spell failed, the fire had passed him, leaving him on a boiling rock, his soles on the brink of burning, with merely his reserves of energy and magic remaining. Hadrian didn't care about that though. The dragon still stood tall, with an almost human-like expression of surprise written on its face, only mere meters away from him. Hadrian hadn't noticed that he had gone down onto one of his knees, his teeth gritting at the pain of the burning hot rock being pressed against his leg. He slowly got up, standing slightly unsure on his legs, with a malicious and almost feral look in his eyes.

The arena ranks had gone quiet again, they had ever since the dragon had taken notice of them. Only a few screamed as the tidal wave of black flames had rushed towards them, they had been to transfixed by what was playing out in the pit before them. Few had even recognized that headmaster Dumbledore had summoned a large marble wall before them, protecting them from certain death. Surprised gasps, for the second time in only mere minutes, made rounds as Hadrian had emerged from the Dragon fire unharmed. Even Krum and the other remaining acolytes seemed greatly surprised, just as the headmasters. During the time of Grindelwald's conquest of Europe in the first wizarding war, an event like this would probably have served as propaganda of some kind, yet the kneeling wizard that had been Hadrian had most likely other things to worry about. Like the gigantic lizard, that currently got itself ready to spew another wave of fire at the young wizard, only meters away from him.

In a way that, if they would have heard it, would possibly remind some of the muggle-born children of a cheesy punchline from an American action film, Hadrian muttered "It'll take a lot more then that to make me kneel before you, dragon." moving his wand in a circular motion above his head before snapping the yew wand down in a whip-like fashion. For a couple of seconds nothing happened, the dragon drew his head back ready to spew, as suddenly the sea of dragon fire begun boiling and hissing. The second the beast opened its snout, a stream of black flames rushed passed Hadrian and, almost as if time went backwards, flew directly into the mouth of the dragon. Unable to close its mouth, the flames continued to rush into its body, destroying the dragon from the inside. The fire of life in the eyes of the dragon long since gone, as the last bit of black flames vanished into its mouth. At multiple points of its body, the liquid fire had begun to leak out, the hole in the head, caused by the young Durmstrang Champion, was one of such exits. The corpse of the dragon was burning up from the inside, not few of the scales had caught fire as well.

Using the last bit of magic in him, Hadrian levitated a chunk of the boulder he had stood on for the majority of the task towards the nest, grabbing the golden egg, leaving the dragon's eggs be.

The arena had remained utterly silent, even as the Durmstrang champion had arrived at the exit of the pit, discarding the piece of the boulder with a flick of his wand, before holstering the very same. He followed a perplexed school matron to the medical tent, leaving the crowd to stare in awe and some even in terror at the dragons remains.

Dumbledore removed his half-moon-spectacles, absent-mindedly polishing them, his gaze still fixated on the corpse of the dragon. 'This boy could be our only hope' was the only thought that ran through his mind.


End file.
